


Sweet Dreams

by bellesque



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blindfolds, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dream Sex, Dreaming, Dry Humping, Edging, F/M, Fingering, I actually have no idea what else to tag, Incubus Loki, Incubus!Loki, Jealous Loki (Marvel), Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Loki Does What He Wants, Office Sex, POV Second Person, Possessive Loki (Marvel), Reader-Insert, Sex, Sex Pollen, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking, Teasing, Temperature Play, and what he wants is you, basically i wanted an excuse to write some smut, for like a chapter ish sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22553959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellesque/pseuds/bellesque
Summary: It's your first free weekend in what feels like forever and you plan on snoozing through it without any interruptions.Someone has other plans.Listen to the Spotify playlisthere.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader, Loki (Marvel)/You, Loki/Reader, Loki/you
Comments: 110
Kudos: 562





	1. The First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiningloki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningloki/gifts), [cheriesugarr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheriesugarr/gifts).



> I literally wrote this at 12 midnight. Should I... be sorry?

**YOU AREN’T SURE** of three things.

The first one being that you don’t know when exactly _it_ starts.

Things are a whirlwind, a blur of deadlines and details that don’t seem to fit together. You’re busy, that’s for sure, just barely surviving; your concept of time is distorted with how much you have to get done and stay on top of that once you’re home you have just enough energy to take a quick shower and knock right out. Work, survive, sleep, repeat. Your favorite part of the routine? Definitely the sleep.

You aren’t sure when your nights start becoming more restful. It’s strange, you think, since you barely get even a good five hours yet you wake up refreshed every morning. Or at least ready to face the day.

You tell yourself it’s your circadian rhythm getting used to your messed up workaholic schedule.

The second thing you aren’t sure of is why you start having dreams.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to you—you’ve had dreams before. Only with how much time you spend awake versus how much time you spend resting, dreams don’t come easy. At least, they shouldn’t. You read somewhere that the more active your brain is, the more likely you are to have dreams. Or is it the opposite? You press a hand to your eyes, rolling your neck before you continue with the document you’re currently typing.

They aren’t weird dreams by any means. Sometimes you remember them, sometimes you don’t. You remember one where you screamed at an ex-friend until your lungs gave out, throat hoarse, and that day you woke up feeling closure you never actually got. Another time, you dreamed that you missed a deadline, and woke up so paranoid that you showed up two hours early for work. And more recently, you admit with a tinge of embarrassment, a wet dream.

You’re sure it’s from the novel you had to proofread the other day. Page after page was filth after filth and it left your heart racing, your mind wandering, and a certain part of you wanting.

Goodness, how long has it been since you last…

You shake your head and will yourself to focus.

The sooner you can get this done, the sooner you can go home.

It’s been a pretty shitty day.

You’re practically ready to call it a day; today your boss yelled at you for being _incompetent_ (you aren’t) and your coworker Salome took credit for _your_ work in today’s meeting (she’s a little bitch). You just need a break, damn it.

Thankfully this is your first weekend off after what feels like years. You love your job, but you also don’t want to live-eat-breathe it. Any more time in that office and you’d probably reach your breaking point, exploding into an angry string of expletives and fired notices.

Your night of unwinding and de-stressing goes exactly how you plan it, and you think you can finally get a good nine hours of sleep in. You’re definitely sleeping in tonight. If anyone even tries to wake you up before seven you swear you’ll kill them on sight come Monday morning.

A friend of yours recommends this audio thing for you to listen to. Supposed to help you relax, so she says. So you decide why the hell not, you’re already pretty drowsy, why not conk out two minutes quicker?

You settle in under the covers, getting into the position you’re most comfortable in, and hit play. It’s an audiobook, you realize, narrated by a man with a gorgeously full voice. You allow yourself to get lost in the timbre of his voice. It’s almost hypnotic, entrancing, how musical it sounds. You notice the way his words sound together, how he pronounces his _the_ and _said_ , not paying attention to the story itself, until he becomes background noise.

In less than five minutes, you’re fast asleep.

The last thing you aren’t sure of is what you’re dreaming of before you see it.

It, or him?

The shift in emotion you feel is so quick, so drastic, that you almost wake up. You do. Or you don’t? You’re not sure, and it’s freaking you out. Well, your eyes are open—does that mean you’re awake? You try to regain your bearings—what does that even mean, you are—were?—sleeping in your own bed for fuck’s sake—

“Relax.”

There it is, a silhouette, just by the foot of your bed. Or is it just a shadow? Your heart beats loudly in your ears, and you want to be sleeping peacefully—aren’t you sleeping peacefully?—or just wake up from whatever _this_ is—

“Still your thoughts, pet, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you want me to. But first, please—rest… relax.”

You feel a gentle pressure around your body as your blanket comes up around you, almost like you’re being tucked in like a child who’s just woken up from a nightmare. Is this a nightmare? Are you awake or dreaming? You aren’t sure.

The voice laughs, silky and altogether mysterious, and for some reason it automatically makes you think of dark chocolate. Sinful, rich, and decadent. He hasn’t stepped out of the shadows, but no matter how lovely his voice is you’re not sure you want to see him. It’s instinct. So you shut your eyes tight.

“I’m scared,” you blurt out without thinking.

“I can see that,” the voice answers swiftly. You can feel your hair being brushed away from your forehead. A gentle, comforting gesture. “Although I hope in a few nights you won’t be.”

“What does that mean?” Your question comes out soft and weak, the kind that signals your consciousness is slipping away. What, are you being lulled back into sleep already? So easily?

The voice hums thoughtfully. “Names are power. Shall I give you the power of mine so that you’ll be well-acquainted with me?”

“Who are you?”

“I may have misled you a little, pet.” He chuckles, and it surprises you how warm it sounds. Inviting. “ _What_ am I would be a better start now, wouldn’t it?”

You’re jolted back to alertness. Not a person, but… something else? He sounds human. He probably feels human as well. “What are you?” you all but demand.

“Oh, there’s fire in this one,” he remarks. “I quite like that. Well then, sweet, I’ll tell you, since you asked so nicely. I am what your kind know as an incubus—you can look it up when you awaken, but, I’ll give you the short version: I feed on passion. Desire. Lust. _Sex_.” The way he says the last word makes your skin shiver, and you unconsciously suck in a breath. “But only in dreams. Only in _your_ dreams. Your deepest, darkest fantasies come to life. Everything you want, I can give. Now tell me, isn’t that exhilarating?”

Damn, your head is spinning. The world is spinning. This handsome voice only wants to have sex?

How long has it been again since you last…

“How do I know if I can trust you?” you ask.

His motions pause, and then he resumes with a touch that mesmerizes you into a state of pliancy. And gentle, oh so gentle—your eyelids are heavy, a stark contrast to your body that is on high alert.

“I’ve told you what I am. I wouldn’t want to deceive you to get what I want. It’s always more delightful when an incubus has a willing partner.” A wanton shiver slides down your spine, slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of the strokes of his hands. “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t want me to. But oh, sweet pet, the things _I want_ to do.” You feel his voice at your ear, his breath coming in light puffs, and hell, it makes you want him with each passing second. “You’d enjoy it all, I’m sure. I only want to see you come undone. To bring you high into your personal precipice of ecstasy. And I want to watch it all unfold.” You gasp when you feel his teeth nip at your earlobe, your clit pulsing once, in time with the pang of pain and pleasure.

“Will you let me show you what I can offer, sweet?”

The fact that you can feel the gush of heat pooling into your center makes you slightly embarrassed, but it only affirms how much you want this. It’s been too long, and if the both of you can get off then the better.

His nose is running across the side of your face, and you crane your neck as he trails downward, towards the vein in your neck, where he ultimately will know just how affected you are. He skims the tip of his nose along your pulse point, inhaling deeply, before climbing up so his face is level with yours.

“Just say yes,” he murmurs, low and seductive and lulling you into a deeper place of desire, “if you want this as bad as I want you.”

“Yes,” you breathe, a sigh riding on the last sound of the word. “Please, yes.”

The pressure around you lifts, and you briefly wonder if the dream is over. Only it isn’t. This is real, and this is happening.

“Open your eyes first,” he says. “I want you to see me.” 

Battling some degree of difficulty (your eyes have been pretty heavy up to this point), you comply. Standing before you is a gorgeous man, lithe and lean, clad in black (is that a suit?) and immediately you know his voice of velvet seduction matches his appearance perfectly. Your eyes rake over this mystery man, his black hair falling in decadent curls and grazing the tops of his shoulders, his features sharp and masculine, and your gaze travels downwards and lingers for a second too long on his…

“I’m glad I could elicit such a positive reaction when I haven’t done anything to pleasure you yet.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice as he appraises you with a look of equal desire. Has he been looking at you like that all this time? The idea that he has floods your veins with delicious fire, your excitement boiling in the pits of your deepest parts.

“Now close your eyes again, sweet,” he says, gently placing his fingers on your eyelids and guiding them shut. “I want you to focus on what I’m doing.”

The heat pooling between your legs is undeniable now, and you wait with bated breath for anything, literally anything. All you can hear is the sound of your own breathing, shallow and rapid, as you wait in anticipation. There is no contact between you, and yet the electrifying tension in the air winds you up like a string that’s pulled taut. 

And then finally, he touches you. It’s not what you expect, a gentle cupping of your cheek, but the tenderness is not lost on you. He drags a single finger over your nose, running it along your jawline, then down to your neck. Your breathing picks up as the lightest pressure of his finger brushes against your collarbone, going over the hollow where neck meets shoulder once, twice, and then he slowly, _excruciatingly slowly,_ travels down and boldly trails his finger around your breast.

“Gorgeous,” he comments, and it amazes you how you want more. He’s only using a single finger and already you are putty in his hands. “And I would love to see how exquisite your skin is underneath. May I, sweet?”

You sigh, and it sounds more shameless than you want to admit. “Yes. Please.”

“Alright.”

You’re aware of your sudden lack of clothing. At least it feels that way, what with the cool air caressing your curves and the goosebumps that rise on the surface of your skin. You’re topless in front of him. Your first instinct is to cover up, although your hands seem to be pinned to your sides as you lay flat on your back. 

He’s silent, the only sounds now _both_ your breathing, yours light as air and his even and level. The air is thick and hot and heavy and you want to do something. Anything, to relieve the delicious ache between your legs.

“May I touch you, sweet?” His pure seduction of a voice cuts through the night air, a few tones lower and ten times more sensual.

Your throat is closed up from the anticipation you’re feeling, and you nod dumbly. _Yes, please touch me,_ you want to say, but the words never come out. The nod, for now, will suffice.

He continues to use a single finger to trace across the mounds of your breast, circling the right from base to areola and then moving to the left until his finger rests on the nipple. You vaguely register the breathy sound you make when he brushes against it—the firm pad of his finger against your nipple causes a delicious friction that makes you think _Yes please_ and something warm settles in the pit of your belly _._ Your mind is going into overdrive, probably from the sex drought you’ve been experiencing for the past few months.

“So responsive.” His voice is husky, and his praise makes your folds even wetter that you press your thighs together to relieve some of the ache.

And then he’s repeating the motion with more vigor this time, one hand on each breast as he inflicts intoxicating little flicks against your nipples, and you feel like you’re about to see stars. Your mouth hangs open in awe because _fuck_ , never has something this simple turned you on this much.

You let out a full on moan when he squeezes your breasts in his hands, briefly, and then he’s sliding his cool fingers up to cup your jaw and then tracing down the curves of your waist and then settling his hands on your hips.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, his fingers a feather-light touch against your skin, leaving sparks of fire in their wake. It can’t be humanly possible to feel this much, can it?

They’re just hands, you tell yourself in the midst of your hazy, lust-ridden thoughts. How the hell are you feeling this way?

“May I taste your skin, sweet?” His voice is practically a purr. You nod, frantic to receive whatever he has to give.

You don’t think it can get any better but then _fuck_ , you feel something warm and wet close around your nipple and your legs snap open by their own accord. Your underwear feels soaked through and part of you thinks _this is obscene but hell you don’t want it to end._

His mouth is doing wicked things now, nipping and sucking and then _gently biting_ at your nipple. It’s mind-numbing, the way he deftly swirls his tongue around your nipple before sucking and biting while his other hand caresses the other. He showers the rest of the skin around your breast with the same treatment until you’re whimpering beneath him, writhing for release—any kind of release at this point—that you know he can give and senses that you need.

“Legs up, sweet,” he purrs, his voice is thick with desire. Hearing it only makes your libido kick up three notches higher, and you eagerly lift up your legs in a V position. He catches you by the ankles, rubbing his thumbs in circles on the insides of each, every action traveling up the nerves that connect to your pussy, electrifyingly delicious and making your walls clench in anticipation. Hell, you want him to touch you. In all the places. You’re just about ready to beg.

He takes you by surprise as he hooks one leg over his shoulder, using his body to shift you until you’re lying on your side. It’s a little unexpected, but you aren’t uncomfortable. Your legs are spread wide, one on his shoulder and the other on the bed seemingly between his knees. It’s probably enough for him to see just exactly how turned on you are. 

“My, my, sweet.” If it’s possible, his voice takes on a fuller, darker, ultimately more seductive tone and fuck if you don’t orgasm _even once_ tonight—

“I would like to touch you. Right here, if you’ll let me.” He brushes a finger against your (apparently naked!) mound. “May I, sweet?”

“ _Fuck_ , yes please.” You don’t care how needy your voice is; if anything, it’s a reflection of how much you’re craving this. How you want this.

He places his palm flat on your pussy and both of you hiss. Your back arches as you try to grind on his hand, desperate for friction, and he chuckles.

“So eager,” he says, his fingers now rubbing steady circles around your clit. “Would you prefer it if I gave you my cock already?”

You let out a strangled noise because _how could he ask such a stupid question of course you want it_. You buck against his hand, whining when he withdraws it. It almost hurts how aroused you are, your cunt thrumming with the promise of an orgasm.

“I would love to give it to you already, sweet, but I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait a while.” You can feel your clothes coming back on. “But, since you’ve been so good, allow me to give you a parting gift…”

You’re almost face-down on the mattress, but you’re still mostly on your side. The bed shifts with weight as you feel—you can only guess—him kneeling behind you.

And your world comes to a complete standstill, a wave of pleasure overcoming you and washing over you like a tidal wave, as you feel him just _griiiiind_ his erection into your wanting core.

“Oh, yes, just like that,” you say breathlessly. He has complete control, a gentle yet firm grip on your hips as he presses _hard_ into your clothed wetness, his erection strong and unyielding. He alternates between lowering himself _slooowly_ on you, pressing you down into the mattress with long, even, fluid motions, and then grinding in slow circles in that intensity, before relieving the pressure and humping you in that slow and steady manner again and again until he’s bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

And then he gives one hard long push, grinding into you, his cock as close to your cunt as you can possibly have it, as he whispers in your ear, “Until the next night of ours, sweet.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone. It’s over.

You wake with your clit throbbing and your pajamas sticking to your skin. You’re lying on your back. Not on your side.

You sit up, dizzy and distracted because _what the hell was that?_

So you sit there, a little dazed from the ordeal (did you orgasm? You’re not sure), and it hits you that you don’t even know his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm also on tumblr with the same username (bellesque) and on twitter (allonsifies).
> 
> Feedback and kudos are always appreciated!


	2. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early Valentine's Day!
> 
> I'm actually so overwhelmed with the response this has gotten - it's crazy. I'm so grateful and I love you. Y'all are amazing.

**YOU’RE ENTIRELY DISSATISFIED.**

You woke up lightheaded and so close, _oh so close_ , to the release that you craved. To have it robbed from you, to come so close only to have it taken away in a little less than a heartbeat, leaves you agitated and—quite frankly—still aroused.

It’s already midday. Surely by now the effects of the mystery man in your dreams have worn off. Surely you’ve forgotten the sound of his enchanting voice, the feel of his mouth on your skin, the absolute bliss that coursed through your body when he…

You’re a little in shock, to say the least. Memories of your fever dream linger in the back of your mind, resurfacing at the most random moments.

You are no stranger to wet dreams. Hell, they’re a welcome change from time to time. What makes this one so different?

Of course, you know the answer. It’s only your stubbornness and pride keeping you from admitting it. You want to chalk it up to just being a dream, too good to be real—only it _was_ real, and you know that in your heart. You just can’t explain how.

Your Saturday morning is spent obsessing over the man (incubus, you recall him telling you) and replaying every little moment from last night’s tryst.

There’s a niggling feeling that you can’t shake: whatever happened last night is far from over. Oh no, things have only just begun.

And the thought thrills you.

You find yourself constantly checking the time throughout the day.

You’re antsy, whether you want to admit it or not. It’s a mix of fear from not knowing if whatever the hell happened was real or dangerous at all, and anticipation for what’s yet to come.

_Until the next night of ours, sweet._

Next. You’re absolutely certain he said next, which means that your indecent show yesterday is getting an encore.

The sound of your TV blurs into background noise as you check your phone. 5:36 PM. Far too early for you to be going to bed, but you can’t even focus on the show you’re watching as your thoughts are consumed by what awaits you when you enter dreamland.

You’re too fucking excited to go to bed that the chances of falling asleep as easily as you want are slim.

With a huff, you rise from your couch, stalking to your closet in the hopes that some reorganization will help you clear your thoughts and relieve some of your pent up energy. Tidying up has that effect, right?

And it helps, even just a little. You settle into a rhythm: keep, toss, _hey this is cute_ , and _ew why do I have this_ ; fold, hang, roll. You’re surprised to find clothes you haven’t seen in what feels like years and check if they still fit you. One particularly racy number catches your attention, bringing to the fore of your brain the reason why you’re fixing your closet in the first place.

You finger the silky material of one of the straps. Maybe if you wear this tonight…

You all but lunge for your phone and check the time, a twinge of enthusiasm in your actions because you can see it’s beginning to darken outside. Which means it’s almost time to sleep.

7:09 PM.

You let out an exasperated sigh.

As soon as 9 o’clock rolls around (it takes it long enough) and after a long, steamy bath, you pull on the lingerie you found earlier, your hands shaking as if you had just a little too much caffeine. It’s embarrassing how much you’ve worked yourself up over this, turning into a bundle of sex-crazed nerves. It was all you could think about today, you reason. Cut yourself some slack. Or maybe just enjoy it wholeheartedly without the guilt.

The last option is the most appealing.

So you settle into the covers, turn off the lamp that sits by your nightstand, and close your eyes, mentally prepared to accept whatever sexual fate you are to receive.

Only nothing happens.

Your thoughts from today, filthy and secret and quite numerous, play on loop, forcing your mind to stay awake. The opposite of what you want to happen. You want to fall asleep, to see the gorgeous man standing over you and to relish his reaction when he sees what you’re wearing, and then you want to see his expression turn wolfish as he begins to peel off—

You’re doing it again.

Damn it, why can’t you shut your brain off?

You inhale deeply, squeezing your eyes tighter as though the action is enough to command yourself to sleep.

“C’mon,” you mutter to yourself, squeezing your legs together now too. “Sleep, damn it.”

You don’t. Or rather, you can’t.

You don’t know how long you spend lying in your bed with your eyes closed and the rest of your body fidgeting. You toss and turn, attributing your inability to doze off to perhaps the wrong sleeping position. You lie on your back, your stomach, the left side, the right side—and you’re still as restless as before.

At one point in the night you sit up, half-growling, half-groaning your frustration. You just want to sleep. Hasn’t it been your plan for this whole weekend? How is it that they’ve been uprooted and changed so quickly?

Part of you wishes that as you sat up, you’d be met with the charming gaze of the man, signifying that you’ve successfully fallen asleep. Only there is no one to greet you in the night, and you are still most definitely awake.

You’re irritable and tired of the situation, so you grab your phone to watch something before bed. And then it clicks—last night you were listening to the audiobook! It helped you relax then, perhaps it can do the same now.

Triumphant as if you’ve cracked the code, you open it up and let the audiobook play, the narrator’s voice droning on, the words washing over you like a lullaby.

It’s working, you think excitedly as your eyes begin to leaden with sleep. _This_ is the key after all! The audiobook is the gateway to sleep, and ultimately the gateway to him.

And a few good minutes later, you knock out.

You wake up.

Your mind whirrs first, before anything else. The gears of your mind are slow and heavy, groggy, needing a little push. Your eyes haven’t opened, but you can tell it’s already light outside.

What the hell, _it’s already light outside?_

Your eyes snap open. You’re awake.

_You’re fucking awake and he didn’t come last night._

Humiliation creeps into your veins in the form of heat rushing to your face, even if there’s no one but yourself to see it. You even dressed up for him, you think, grimacing as you look down at yourself. Well. That sure was a waste.

Maybe this is the push you need: he isn’t real after all. This week you were tired, short-fused, and definitely sexually deprived. You climb out of bed and pad towards your bathroom. Yes—you conjured up a literal dream man who also happened to be a sex god. Only your mind didn’t give you the courtesy and satisfaction of actually boning with the said dream man.

As you turn on the showerhead, you can’t help the disappointed exhale that echoes around you. Maybe you’re crazy, and him simply a figment of your imagination, but he felt real.

But it’s time for you to stop living in your head, you decide firmly. You’re calling Isla (she’s the one who recommended the audiobook) to see if she can hook you up with a blind date next weekend. After all, you’re a woman with needs, and you can’t rely on dreams to get off.

This time you enjoy your Sunday without any new thoughts of him.

“So listen,” Isla says to you on the phone on Tuesday afternoon, “I finally got you a date, but the catch is, he’s not free on the weekend. Thursday sound good?”

“Thursday’s perfect,” you reply, hitting send on one of the emails you’re writing. “Thanks, Isles. What’d you say his name was again?”

“Jacob. He’s a solid 8/10 both in the looks department and in the sheets. You _did_ say you wanted one night stand material, right?”

“Not a one night stand, per se. I mean, yes, well”—you blow air out through your nose—“it’s whatever.”

“Right, this _whatever_ of yours is going over to your place on Thursday night so better get that engine running soon, because you don’t sound the least bit excited at the idea of getting laid. You okay?”

“It’s fine.” You swivel in your chair. You can’t exactly tell her your blind date-slash-hookup probably won’t top the experience you had with mystery dream guy, so you choose to be deliberately vague in your answers. “Thursday it is. Now, I gotta go, I have work to do—talk to you soon.”

This is your solution: to screw him out of your mind by replacing figment with fact. Hopefully it works. 

You get the feeling it won’t.

Wednesday night, you fall asleep to the sound of rain outside. There’s something about the peace and tranquility, the steadiness of the pitter patter, that comforts you like a familiar blanket.

You’re dreaming tonight: it’s nothing out of the ordinary, just you and Isla on some island getaway downing tropical drinks. You’re heading up to your hotel room, laughing, but a figure in a jet black suit stands right in front of your door. You stop, blink, and the scene changes from your island getaway to your bedroom.

He’s back. And real.

You’re sitting on your bed, staring, your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage. Vastly different from you, he’s leaning against the door, his posture casual and aloof as if he owns the place.

He regards you with a twinkling eye, his lips just barely curved upwards. He quirks up an eyebrow as he pushes off the door and takes two steps towards your bed.

“Did you miss me, pet?”

Something inside you melts as soon as the question is asked, his voice still as rich and full as you remember it nights ago. And then you remember it’s been almost a week, and that he’s left you hanging for that amount of time.

Without much thought, you slink out of bed and walk towards him. “You came back,” you say, and you’re proud of the fact that your voice is stronger than you feel. Right now you want to melt, sink into him and all his spaces, but the humiliation you felt (albeit weirdly misplaced—who gets upset that they got stood up by a dream guy?) takes precedence.

“Did you doubt that I would, kitten?”

You are about a pace apart from each other. Feeling bold, you look up into his green eyes. Oh, how you can get lost in them: warm and seductive and—

No. You will not make this easy. He comes for pleasure, and his alone. You were a little naïve to think he would consider you in this equation, but you know better now.

“I mean, it has been a fucking week. Almost.” There’s an edge to your tone, you make sure of that. Just to make it clear to him that even if he isn’t human, it’s not fair to leave someone on the brink of orgasm and let them think about it for days on end.

“A fucking week?” he repeats, only his tone is amused and thoughtful. He takes a step towards you and you instinctively take one back. A dance of sorts, only there is no reciprocation from you. “I apologize for my absence, sweet. I had other responsibilities I needed to take care of and I didn’t think it would affect you _this_ much. Let me make it up to you”—your knees bump against the corner of your mattress and you buckle under the surprise of it. You sit with a yelp, and he rests his hands on your bare shoulders. “Let me make it up to you by a fucking week.”

“What?” Is he going to make you wait again?

His fingers begin to drum lightly on your collarbone. His eyes are practically glittering with excitement, mesmerizing you with how devastatingly handsome he is up close. Especially when he’s looking at you like _that_.

“As you put so eloquently, sweet, a fucking week. An entire week of me coming to ravish you night after night, until you’re completely sated and satisfied.” His voice is a murmur, so low and heady you think you hear it inside you, warming you from your innermost parts to the tips of your fingers. “Does that appeal to you, pet?”

Your eyes flutter close as his long fingers skim up and down the column of your throat. Barely five minutes and your resolve has flung itself out the window.

“Yes,” you breathe, arching your neck as he brushes hair from your shoulders.

“Good. I intend to have my fill, and we’ve barely begun. Let’s make a game of it, hmm?” He twirls a lock of your hair around his index finger. “Being my lover is no easy feat. We need to heighten your senses, make sure you’re well-prepared.”

“What do you mean?” The question you ask spills from your lips as a default reaction, not truly thought out. Your attention is elsewhere, that being everywhere his fingers brush against.

“I’m going to learn about you, sweet. And you are going to learn about me.” He presses his palm flat against your chest, right on your sternum, the purposeful action a contrast to your now submissive self. Gently he pushes you until you’re lying on your back, and he climbs onto the bed with each leg on either side of you. His lean figure looms above you, dominating, as he lowers himself, stretching across you, the length of his body encasing you in his warmth and scent. He settles his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you, but the hungrier part of you wants to have as little space between you as possible. It’s intoxicating you further; with every breath you take you feel like you’re inhaling more of him. You just want more of him.

He lowers his head until you feel his mouth at the shell of your ear. Something inside you coils in long-awaited anticipation, your muscles tense and rigid, as if any unwarranted movement will cause this reality to crumble in on itself.

His nose skims the helix of your ear, his prolonged inhale adding to the fire in your veins. And then he speaks in that spellbinding timbre that drives you mad.

“Night after night after night, I’m going to ravish you with my attention. My affection. I will discover, sweet, what desires you keep in the deepest recesses of your heart, where no one else but I can reach, and I will discover what desires have yet to be awakened in you. I like to think I’m quite skilled at that.” He chuckles in your ear, the sound filling your mind with fantasies and visions of other sounds he can make, none of them innocent. “I want to know _everything_ , sweet. I want to see everything—every rise and fall of your chest when you come close to release, the way your delicious lips part when it finally happens.”

Your eyes have slipped close at this point, every fiber in your being attuned to his words and his voice, hypnotizing you into picturing what he means.

“Yes, can you see it now?” His index finger traces light, arbitrary patterns on the outside of your bare thigh. “Because I can, quite perfectly. You’re going to be a wonderful treat, my dear—so delightful to unravel. Every change in expression, every shift in of your muscle, I’m going to savor it all. Savor _you_. And then you will learn about me: what I enjoy, how to make me beg for you after you’ve begged for me.”

He drags a hand over your thigh from the knee up, until it rests on the spot between your hip and your ass. You can’t stop yourself from making a little noise (did you just _whimper?_ ) and your hips lift off the bed ever so minutely you think he doesn’t notice—but he does, because he hums and settles the weight of his pelvis over yours.

He’s hard and huge, and a thought flashes through your mind: oh, the things he can do to you with that much power between his legs and the things _you_ want to do to it.

“I like that sound, pet,” he comments, his lips skimming across your earlobe. He gyrates his hips over you once, twice, and then heaves off you. “Do it again.”

A curse tumbles from your lips, and he chuckles.

“What are you doing to me?” Your voice sounds different to you, breathy and almost whiny, and you’re hit with the realization that any form of coherency you have left is about to disappear from you entirely.

He puts his weight on you again, the stiffness poking at your belly a reminder—as if you need it—that there is the promise of more, and that he wants this probably as much, if not more, than you do.

“Teaching you,” he answers simply, his head dipping further to pepper your jawline with kisses. This time you allow yourself to relish the moment, and your neck moves to give him more access as his lips travel to a sensitive spot behind your ear.

“I… I’m not sure w-what I’m learning,” you respond between heavy breaths.

He sucks on a sensitive spot, just at the junction below your earlobe where the base of your jawline is, and you hear yourself gasp, a needy sound that under any other circumstance, would make you shy away in an instant. But here, in this moment, you feel there is no other way to express fully, and the sound is just right.

The gentle suction on your neck is somehow in time with the throbbing of your body, pulsing with the ache for more. His tongue licks over his new spot once he’s done, and your eyes all but roll to the back of your head at the action. The idea that he has just marked you as his sends an electrifying shudder down your body. He moves his face so it’s aligned with yours—you can feel his nose brushing against yours and his lips are a hair’s breadth away. They’re parted, so close to yours—you could easily capture them in a kiss with the slightest tilt of your chin. You try to do so, only you can feel him pull back and laugh lightly.

“First lesson,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth and then down to the ear he hasn’t whispered in. You shiver, craning your neck to the side. “Well, perhaps not a lesson just yet. But the first thing you must remember is my name.”

Yes. Finally you will know his name, something you can scream and whisper and groan in the future. It’s as if he reads your mind, because he continues, “I want to hear you say my name in all different ways. Soft, loud. Pleas, demands. Is that alright with you, sweet?”

You can’t string a single sentence now, with his mouth at your ear and his hands skimming over the skin where your pajama top has ridden up. Your brain is fried, muddled with lust, so all you do is nod.

“Good girl. Now let me hear it from that pretty mouth of yours.” He moves to kiss both your closed eyelids, your nose, until he’s hovering over your lips. You can feel them move above yours and it takes all your willpower not to kiss him right there. “Repeat after me: _Loki_.”

Loki. It’s a fitting name, for some reason. You can’t picture him with anything else.

“Loki,” you whisper against his lips, quiet and hushed, and it feels right, rolling off your tongue like a stream of water.

“Very good,” he says, and at last he presses his lips against yours, searing hot and languid at the same time. It’s as if he’s taking his time tasting you while you let him take control, his tongue skimming your top lip. And then he kisses you with more fervor, a little growl coming up deep from his throat, and he opens his mouth and takes your bottom lip in between his teeth.

Stars. You’re seeing stars.

Your breathing hitches as he sucks on your bottom lip, a steady rhythm that opens up the floodgates of filthy thoughts and wants and wishes. Giving one final suck, he completely lifts his entire body off of you. Your eyes open, bleary and heavy, and you can see just how divine he looks above you: aroused, flushed, and staring at you with the intensity of the summer sun.

“First _real_ lesson, sweet,” he says, his voice just the slightest bit rougher, “is sound.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you guys know that I'm pretty swamped with this semester, but I am working on this when I can. Things are only heating up!  
> Got something you want to see in future chapters, or just want to say hi? Drop a comment or leave an ask on my tumblr (bellesque.tumblr.com)  
> I also may or may not be posting the link to the Spotify playlist I made on there because I'm extra like that :)


	3. Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! I hope y'all are staying home and staying safe.  
> I'm so sorry for the long wait; I'd planned to get this up sooner, but I wasn't feeling well. While I hope this chapter makes up for the wait, I do have to preface that it might not be the best it can be due to my sickness. Might go back and edit because you guys deserve the best.
> 
> This chapter has blindfolds, whips, and a whole lot of dirty talk, so if you aren't into that I suggest you skip it. Otherwise, full steam ahead!
> 
> Many thanks to my darling friends Bee and Kai - yes, I've dedicated this to you both for helping me with this little beast. I love you very dearly.

**SOUND?**

Your brows must have knit together unconsciously, because a smile graces Loki’s mouth. He kisses the spot where they meet between your eyes. “So adorable when you’re confused, pet,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against yours. “Now. Close your eyes.”

“Why do I need to—”

You’re abruptly cut off as a silky material blankets itself over your eyelids. Instinctively you panic, your muscles tensing, until Loki pecks you on the nose.

“Did I not tell you to trust me, pet?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Ah. Well”—he ghosts kisses over your jawline, from your chin up to your ear—“ _trust me._ ”

Having nothing else to go by except the sound of his voice, you know he could be setting you up for something you didn’t sign up for. But you just _know_ that he’s sincere in the fact that well… you’re both seeking pleasure. As you grow accustomed to the blackness behind your lids, you relax; besides, it’s not like you can do much else except accede to his command. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve put up more of a fight—except Loki is just so _different,_ apart from him being a fucking incubus. There’s just something about his voice that oozes the kind of confidence that turns you on, makes you want to do whatever he says.

His voice. Sound.

Is this part of the ‘lesson’ somehow?

Loki lifts his body off you, and you’re hit with the strange sense of hollowness as he stands. Like you’ve gotten used to his body on top of yours and now there’s just a weird kind of emptiness that takes its place.

“Tonight, sweet, we focus on sound, hence the blindfold.” His voice comes from somewhere on your right. Loki caresses your chin with the back of his index finger. “Are you comfortable?”

You nod.

“I want an answer, pet.”

“Yes, Loki.”

“Good,” he says, satisfaction clear in his voice. He lightly flicks his finger against the apex of your chin. When his touch withdraws from you, you reach out for him, hand outstretched, only to be pushed back into a lying position.

“No, no, sweet, you stay there. Sprawled before me like the prettiest portrait,” he says. “I _could_ just ravish you right here, now… but the chase is just _so_ much more fun.”

His voice drops a good octave at the tail end of his sentence, hunger drenching his words and causing a shiver to dance wonderfully over your skin. How could you ever think you could fuck Loki out of your mind with a blind date? If he can do this to you, get this much of a reaction without so much as a slight brush of his finger, you’ll gladly swear off all men. As long as he visits you like this, every night.

“Blind date?” Loki asks with a sharp but subtle note of jealousy. You freeze. Can he hear your thoughts?

“You wanted to get rid of me,” he says, his voice drawing closer to your ear, the smirk playing on his lips somehow audible, “and you thought you could do so by seeking warmth from another man? Oh, my sweet. My innocent little sweet.” He chuckles, and you think he’s shaking his head lightly. “You are sorely mistaken if you think you can get rid of me _that_ easily.”

The sinister undertone should frighten you—it _should_ , you try to tell yourself, but it just fucking turns you on.

“I-I’m sorry.” Your apology comes out in an embarrassing shaky stutter, halfhearted and simply thrown out. Your voice is lost from the eroticism of his voice. _His stupid fucking voice_. He could say anything and you’d just open your legs for him.

“You should be.”

Your head jerks up from the pillow, darting from side to side—no longer is his voice coming from right next to your ear, oh no, it sounds like… like he’s gotten farther. Maybe to one of the corners in the bedroom? By the door? How the fuck did he get there so fast, you didn’t even _hear_ him—

_Crack._ “Do you know what this is, pet?” he asks, his voice taking on a more dominant edge.

It’s a little scary, you’ll admit, but also hot as fuck.

You gulp, hoping to provide _some_ moisture down your throat; you’re parched, mostly from the excitement. A stupid thought enters your mind, and you have to bite back a giggle. Your throat is so dry because all the moisture went straight down to—

_Crack!_ The sound ripples through the air, slicing through the quiet stillness, a little more menacing than the first one. “An answer, sweet. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Heat courses throughout your body and you squirm. You can’t see him but you know, just _know_ that he’s staring at you with those intense eyes of his.

“It sounds like…” You lick your lips, swallowing. “Like a whip of some kind.”

“Very good,” Loki says. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweet, don’t worry. I only want you to follow the sound of this whip. It will ultimately reveal where I am to you.”

Another crack resounds throughout your bedroom, and even if you’ve lost perception you gauge it’s in the same general area where he first started.

“I must admit, I’m a little upset, sweet. Do you know why that is?”

You pause. For some reason, you can easily imagine Loki with one arm behind his back, his posture regal and disciplinarian. You can see him with his head slightly inclined as he paces around you, keeping his gaze locked on your lying figure as he twirls the whip in his hand.

“I think so,” is your demure reply.

“Hmm. And what do you think is that reason?”

You clear your throat. “The blind date.”

_Crack._ “Exactly. You must learn to trust me, pet. And I don’t want you to think I am easily replaceable.” _Crack._ “Spread your legs, sweet,” he commands offhand. You do as you’re told, the light trickle of your juices causing tingles to ride up and down your body. You’re sure at some point tonight, you’re going to short circuit. The anticipation sizzles just underneath your skin, heightening your arousal.

“I want to be the only one giving you pleasure,” he continues, as if he didn’t just order you to open for him. He brings the whip down through the air; a quiet whistle this time, not so much a harsh crack. “So what are we going to do about this date of yours?”

You’re quiet for a moment. You haven’t thought about what you’d do about Jacob if Loki suddenly came into the picture—because you hadn’t counted on him coming back.

The whip comes down on the mattress, the soft _thwip_ against the sheets startling you. “Yes, pet?” he prompts.

“I-I’ll cancel on him,” you say, jutting out your chin.

Loki brings down the whip, the tip snapping right between your ankles. The covers ripple in response, fluttering around your feet, and you flinch slightly.

“Wrong answer,” he says, gliding his hand around the sheets by your feet, smoothing them down. “Try again sweet. And _don’t. Move._ ”

_Wrong answer?_ Your head is spinning: from the whip’s proximity or because Loki just said you gave him the wrong answer, you don’t know.

Trying to keep your heartbeat from racing, you rack your brains for another response. One close enough to what Loki is looking for. With each passing second, it feels pointless to try. Because what better answer is there than not seeing the man in question?

“I’ll tell him I’m busy,” you try, but deep inside you know it’s still not what he wants.

_Thwip._ The whip beats against the mattress, just between your knees now. “Wrong again, my sweet. Try again. What did I say earlier?”

What _did_ he say earlier? You’re finding it harder to focus because he’s started beating the whip against the mattress every two seconds, making you acutely aware of the fact that it’s inching its way up, climbing to the apex of your legs. Almost like a ticking time bomb.

And then somehow it hits you, like a curtain’s been pulled apart to show you what’s behind it.

_I want to be the only one giving you pleasure._

“Tell him I can’t,” you say in a hoarse, wanting voice, “because I’m seeing someone else.”

“Very good, sweet.”

The tip of the whip beats closer and closer to your center now. Following its rhythmic taps, running a straight line from your thighs and inching higher, _closer_ to your cunt, it fills you with an unfamiliar kind of excitement. You tighten your muscles subconsciously. You know it’s not going to touch you in any way, but its placement—just a couple of inches below your soaked cunt—combined with the hypnotic tapping, your mind can’t help but settle someplace filthy.

You can imagine with every soft beat that it’s the tempo in which he thrusts into you. The pace at which he pulls out only to slide back deep into your warmth.

It’s _so close_ to you now that you can practically feel its phantom touch. A wicked ghost of a caress against your slippery folds that makes you bite your lip in wanton longing. Your walls grip at air, clenching at nothing, desperate for some way to be filled up.

The metronome that Loki beats _just below_ your slick cunt, so close yet _so fucking far_ , lulls you deeper into a fantasy. One where he’s on top of you, his rock hard cock slamming into you with every _thwip_ but no gentler. His strong arms halo around your head, keeping your gaze locked on his. Before you know it, you’re gyrating your hips in minute circles as your mind is consumed by thoughts of him.

And then… it stops.

It takes a second for you to realize when it does. Whatever spell you were under, chasing some phantom orgasm subconsciously, is broken. Your movements halt and you come down from a heady place with a little dash of shame in your system.

“Satisfied, pet?” he asks, amusement in his voice.

“You know I’m not,” you mumble. Your mind is still bogged with lust and you really want him to do something about the arousal that’s beginning to wind you up tighter.

“Of course I do. That was a lovely performance, by the way.” Loki’s voice seems to float towards you, then away, and then you jump when you hear it on your other side. “So eager. So… receptive. I can imagine you’ve got quite the imagination, yes? Tell me, exactly what image were you conjuring up in that pretty head of yours?”

“I…” Your throat closes up before you can stop it, sheer embarrassment blocking you from voicing the delicious fantasy in your mind.

“Go on, sweet. It’s just me. No reason to be shy.” His voice draws closer, right by your ear, low and husky. “You’re supposed to tell me what you see. Every _deliciously_ filthy little detail. Come now, pet. Your words.”

Loki’s sensual encouragement sends a wave of arousal to ride over you as much as it emboldens, and you tell him. Softly, at first, and a little shy. You tell him how you see him pounding into you, keeping in time with the steady beat of the whip. He pries for more details, and little by little you crack, your breathing more shallow as you share with him what you see: how he takes you and where his hands go and what you do when he does things that you want him to do again and again. Words start to flow nonstop once you start, a stream of strangled wishes, and Loki only urges you to continue with patient phrases like, “Yes, sweet, go on,” and “Yes, and?”

“My, my,” he says when you finish your sharing with a quiet whimper of arousal. The grin is evident in his tone. “What a _delight_ this is, sweet. Do you see how powerful sound alone can be? To have you this ready, it’s… oh, sweet, it’s _glorious_.”

Loki rakes a hand through your hair. “I want to kiss you,” he whispers. “May I, sweet?”

You sigh. “Yes, Loki.”

He kisses you softly, tenderly, his hands burying themselves in your hair. An innocent kiss, one where you wish you could cradle his face too. And then it shifts; he angles your face upwards to deepen the kiss with a growl, and he sweeps his tongue around the cavern of your open mouth.

He swallows your sigh, and after grazing his teeth along your lips he pulls away and leans his forehead against yours. You really wish you could see him right now, see if his cheeks are as flushed as yours feel, if his lips are bitten red.

“You make it difficult for me to restrain myself, pet,” he breathes as he pushes off you. “But I will. All good things to those who wait, after all.”

Yeah, except you don’t want to fucking wait anymore. You want him to fuck you senseless, hell, even like a ragdoll—you know he’s holding himself back, for a reason you’ve yet to find out.

Your nightstand drawer opens with a smooth _shfft_ sound, bringing you out of your reverie. “Uh, Loki?” you ask cautiously. “What are you doing?”

The silence gives you only one indication: he’s found something that’s piqued his interest. Your blood rushes through your body—there isn’t anything incriminating in your nightstand, you assure yourself, but a split second later you’re doused in mortification when you remember—

“Wait—”

You’re a little too late. There’s a _click;_ the quiet hum of a vibrator fills the air, and fills you with embarrassment. You want to curl in on yourself—shit, of all things he could have found—

“You will never cease to surprise me, will you, sweet?” He can barely hide the laugh in his voice. “What an interesting contraption.”

You’re positive your face is as red as a beet right now.

“Now is not the time to be a shy little dove,” he coos. “Legs open wider, sweet. Let me see how wet you are.”

It always comes as a shock to you when you realize you’re not wearing certain articles of clothing anymore. Clearly, Loki uses his incubus powers as he deems fit for his whims. Your pajama bottoms have _mysteriously_ disappeared, almost like they just evaporated into the thick air of arousal that hangs in your bedroom, and you’re left in nothing but your underwear.

Loki nudges your calves with his knees, and you spread wider for him, the stickiness between your legs pulling away as you do. The cool air kisses your center and you flutter your walls; you really want him to fuck you.

Soon.

_Now._

The vibrator continues to hum, of course, and when Loki turns it to another setting you swear you’ve never wanted your bed to swallow you whole.

_It’s at your favorite setting._

And you don’t really mind—this is ultimately just new territory and coincidentally, Loki is a new man in your life. But you trust him, so you remember him and his silky voice telling you to relax and just _trust him_.

The vibrator moves through the air as he carries it away; the whirring moves farther from your ears and closer to your legs.

Okay, what the fuck is happening?

A throaty, sharp inhale fills the room and it takes you a while to register that it’s yours. Where the whip was moments ago, an agonizing inch away from your cunt, the vibrator takes its place.

“Loki—”

His name is a whimper on your tongue, strained and wanton. The toy’s muffled hum indicates that it’s resting on the thick covers, and you begin to tense—just barely. If Loki’s little metronome beating with some leather was enough to make you writhe and grind into air, the vibrator— _so close yet so fucking far, again_ —whips you into a frenzy.

“Torture. Isn’t it, pet?” Loki murmurs, so deeply it’s as if you feel his voice within your soul. “Sweet, sweet torture. I wonder, can I make you cum like this? It’s not going to touch you, you know. But you know if I wanted to, it could—but I want to see, sweet. How long can you last like this? At what point will you crave release so badly, without me _touching_ you, without _anything_ touching you—that you begin to cum, all on your own?”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

Your first instinct is to clamp your legs shut, somehow relieve yourself of the ache that’s beginning to build, but as your knees jerk ever so minutely Loki commands, “Keep them open.”

_Fuck_ —that’s all your brain is saying at the moment. It’s a loop, a track that accompanies the steady hum of the vibrator. Your clit is practically throbbing, begging for attention, and it takes you a great deal of effort to keep your arms pinned to your sides.

The worst part is, you think as you suck in your bottom lip between your teeth, you can’t feel a thing. Not even the tiny ripples on the mattress. But you know it’s there, so close, its buzzing a reminder of the tremors it can trigger in your body.

You know even the slightest scooch down to brush against the vibrator wouldn’t go unnoticed. So you lie in place, unmoving, biting down on your lip harshly as some kind of alternative. All you can focus on is the build, the heat pooling deep in your core, the tantalizing buzzing only spurring you on.

And then you hear the faint sound of fabric rustling, a zipper opening—and you realize that Loki is taking off his clothes.

He doesn’t use his magic, unlike how he’s done with you. There’s something about being able to hear him shuck off his clothes, one by one, that makes you whine in earnest.

“Oh, sweet, you are absolutely exquisite right now,” he purrs. His clothes make a little sound as they fall into a small pile on the floor. You can’t help yourself—it gives you the mental image of Loki, somewhere in your room, naked and prowling around you with a whip in hand. Is he wearing anything? Is he completely, utterly naked? Not knowing sends a quick wave of adrenaline to course through your veins.

“You’re so _wet_. And this is all for me.” He sounds almost like he’s in awe, and your own pride swells a little. You’re glad to be having at least some effect on him as he has on you.

“Oh, to touch you, sweet. Sink my fingers in that sweet, soft cunt of yours,” he says, shivers riding up your body. “Taste you until your mind knows nothing but the pleasure my mouth can bring you. It’s maddening.”

Fucking _maddening_ is right, you think, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the idea of Loki fingering you and then sucking on your clit. You flex your walls rhythmically now, hips arching off the mattress just slightly.

And then, just when you think your brain has overloaded from the obscene pictures Loki’s artfully painted and imprinted in your mind, fresh slick gushes and pools around you—because there’s a slick _pop_ that rings in your ears. Loki’s sucked on his fingers, and he’s let you hear every bit of it.

“You’d taste like the finest honey there is,” he murmurs sensually. “Nectar fit for the gods. Fit for _me._ Oh, sweet, to stretch your gorgeous cunt with my fingers”—there’s a moan; is it yours, his, you can’t tell—“and to lick every last drop that drips along my hand. I’d savor every bit of it.” _Pop._

_Crack, thwip, buzz, pop._ A filthy concerto of sounds you’ve heard tonight that has you wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. Distantly you think that each night with Loki is only going to uncover just how wet you can get.

Loki’s groan makes you jump slightly, pulling you out of your lust-induced reverie. And then you aren’t prepared for the next words that comes out of his mouth.

“My cock is so thick and heavy and hard— _aching_ for _you_ , sweet.”

And fuck, you swear in that moment you’ve never felt your world both stop and crash at the same time.

Short circuit. You’re definitely short circuiting now.

“My cock… in your pussy… oh, sweet, I’d fill you up magnificently. A perfect fit.”

At his words, you clench, dizzy from the mental image he’s made you conjure up in your mind. His hips slamming into yours, filling you, cock buried to the hilt and hitting _that spot_ that makes you moan.

“It’s practically throbbing, sweet. Aching for your touch.” He curses under his breath. “To have your fingers wrapped around my shaft, teasing me at first… and then you’ll open that pretty little mouth—absolutely _hungry_ for my cock—and I’ll feed it to you until I cum in your mouth, over your breasts…” A groan rises from deep within his chest and your breathing starts to become shallower.

“My little cock slut.”

“ _Fuck_ , Loki,” you moan, your clit throbbing painfully now. He’s right—at some point, you’re probably going to cum. From nothing but his words and your fantasies.

As if to add insult to injury, heighten your sweet torture, Loki wraps his hand around his shaft and begins stroking himself. _And you can hear every bit of it_. Hear just how fast he’s going, the slickness of skin against skin a dead giveaway, and his heavy breathing through his nose.

He doesn’t seem to hold back, it seems, because his breathy sighs and grunts become the sole focus of your fogged mind. You can barely focus on one thing, each sound blurring into a harmony of pure sex and lust.

“You’ll be so good, sweet, taking it all,” he grunts through heavy breaths. “Your lips around my thick cock, sucking and swallowing every last drop of my seed… And then, sweet, oh, then—I’ll finally fuck you. So hard. Until you see stars, until you forget your own name—ah, _fuck_ —”

“Tell me how you’d fuck me,” you gasp immediately, breathlessly. Your cunt is on autopilot now, squeezing in time with his strokes, delicious heat building in your core. Your own breathing is coming in rapid pants now, slick leaking out of your underwear. Your fingers claw at the sheets to anchor you. Because you feel like you’re floating. Floating into another plane of existence where the only things that exist are you and his voice.

“I’d start slow,” he begins, another weak groan pulled from his throat. “Remind you of the whip.” He slows his strokes; they’re long and deep, and you flutter your cunt in the same pattern. “I’d do this for a while. Just long enough to coat my cock in your warmth. Enough to get you to beg for something harder, _faster_ , like the little cock slut you are.”

A shudder crawls along your spine and into your cunt. “And then?”

“And then, I’d oblige of course, I _am_ a gentleman—but you aren’t ready. You _scream_ for me, scream my name, because I fill you up perfectly and with every thrust you see stars.” His strokes begin to pick up in pace, and you follow suit. “I thrust hard and I thrust deep, and I am unrelenting because I am chasing your pleasure first. Oh, pet, your legs are splayed wide for me but I’d push them even farther apart, even take your knees and bend you over, just to hit spots you never knew could give you such mindblowing pleasure. My fingers toying with your clit, my cock sinking deeper and deeper into your warm, wet entrance until you cum.”

You’re biting your lip pretty hard now, pussy clenching excessively as if you could draw your orgasm out from thin air. But it doesn’t seem so impossible, because you can feel the tight coiling in your belly rise higher and higher, _higher still_ —you’re close—

“Now, sweet, I don’t know—will you cum with a scream? A whisper, a plea? What sound comes out of your mouth when you say my name in sweet release?” His strokes are more erratic now, his breathing more uneven. “No matter. I’ll make you say my name all types of ways—you’ll be cumming again and again, each orgasm more powerful than the last, until you’re nothing but the pleasure you sought. Yes, my sweet little cock slut…”

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—_ you’re _so close now_ —

“Cum,” Loki commands suddenly. “Cum now.”

As if you’re under a spell, the heat bursts, explodes in your core—your orgasm crests, and then you’re falling through waves of ecstasy as you hoarsely moan his name over and over, mindless. Your clit continues to pulse through your unexpected orgasm, body shuddering as the little quakes begin to subside.

But Loki doesn’t relent; he’s still ferociously pumping his cock, sweet and dirty nothings leaving his lips, and then what comes out is a rushed, “I’m going to cum—hold still, sweet.”

Thick ropes of cum spill onto your thighs, warm and sticky, and your muscles tighten at the delicious thought that his release covers your skin. He cums with a deep groan that sits at the back of his throat, long and drawn out like his orgasm.

As Loki comes down from his high, you bask in the contentedness that seeps into you, your muscles relaxing after tensing so much from the anticipation of release. Your vibrator stops humming and you’re back in silence.

Loki snaps his fingers and your blindfold comes off. You sit up and are met with his sated gaze staring back at you. To your dismay, he’s completely clothed, but his cheeks are definitely tinged pink and his eyes still dilated. Your eyes flit briefly to his pants, but Loki draws your attention back to him when he speaks.

“An excellent first night,” he drawls, stepping forward with an amused smirk. “You are quite receptive, sweet. I like that.”

Loki bends to kiss you thoroughly. Once he pulls away, his eyes blown dark once again, he looks down and glances at your cum-smattered legs. He straightens, saying, “Come. I shall clean you up.”

“Actually,” you stop him, face burning, “l-leave it.”

Loki’s eyebrows arch upward, lips curling in delight. “Leave my cum on your thighs?”

Your face burns even more. It’s dumb, you think to yourself, but you need it for your own peace of mind. “Yes,” you say softly. “As a… a reminder. Of tonight, I mean.”

Loki appraises you with an intense, studying kind of look, before tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear affectionately. “Alright sweet. If that’s what you want. Would you like me to tuck you into bed as well? You look absolutely spent.”

“Mmm.” You lean into his touch. You hadn’t expected it, but tonight’s activity has been more exhausting than you anticipated it being. So you let him guide you down, let him fluff the pillows around your head and peck you on the lips.

“Until tomorrow, then?” you mumble sleepily.

“Until tomorrow,” he affirms. A pause. “Sweet dreams, pet.”

It’s the last thing you remember before falling into a deep sleep.

When you wake up the next morning, you don’t expect to feel sore. But your thighs are aching, and your legs are a weird mix of dry and sticky.

You practically bolt up in your bed.

_No fucking way._

Your heart pounds from this tangible evidence, and you’re about to run to your bathroom to really check (and then maybe wash it off because it was hot for a second, but now it’s just uncomfortable and maybe a little gross) when you stop in your tracks.

And there, you see it, tucked neatly atop your nightstand: black silk. You gingerly pick it up and instantly you know. It’s familiar even if you’ve never seen it before.

Because you know that this was wrapped over your eyes last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses for the next chapter? I know what's coming (hehe), but I would love to hear from you guys!  
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated :)  
> And asks! Come interact with me on tumblr: www.bellesque.tumblr.com


	4. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I have nothing to say for myself except that I was initially not aiming for Loki to be this possessive but here we are. Whew. It's a doozy. Hope you enjoy!

**YOU ALMOST CAN’T** believe it.

You’ve spent a solid few minutes staring at the silk blindfold in your now clean lap. Part of you expects it to disappear at any given moment. The other part expects yourself to wake up from a dream.

Dream. He’s not just a figment of your imagination, a product of your mind, some kind of dream man. He’s actually _real._

It’s hard to wrap your head around. Do you wake up in the middle of the night when he comes? No, you’re sure you don’t. Maybe you’re in some bizarre place in between sleep and wake whenever he visits you.

Maybe the _how_ doesn’t matter as much because you have confirmation that _he’s real_.

You drag your thumb over the silky material, memories of last night filing into your brain like a montage of disorganized, out of order clips. The crack of the whip, his heady moans. The hum of your vibrator, the spurt of cum on your legs.

You shiver.

A text message notification brings you back to reality and out of your head, reminding you that you can’t just stay in bed all day despite how much you want to.

There _is_ one thing you take care of before heading into work, though.

And it doesn’t bother you in the least when Jacob replies with two thumbs up emojis.

The day passes on rather quickly, coming as a pleasant surprise to you. It’s a busy day at work; you’re rushing from desk to desk and going to and from your computer, answering phone calls in between bites of your lunch. In the midst of your busyness, you find a fleeting moment to look forward to clocking out and heading home. You can’t wait to kick off your heels and lay in bed.

And get thoroughly ravished by Loki.

You exit your office with a secretive smile to yourself, only it’s wiped from your face as soon as you step into the den. You’ve seen this man in photos that Isla showed you.

“Jacob.”

He’s grinning at you, almost shyly, with _your favorite flowers_ peeking out from behind his back.

“Hi,” he says with a little wave.

You blink. You can’t help but be stunned, considering he sent you thumbs up emojis this morning. _Two of them_.

But you manage to rearrange your features into a polite expression before he can comment on the fact that you literally just blanked for two seconds. “Jacob, hi.” You exhale, shaking your head as you mull over his sudden appearance. “What, uh—what are you doing here?”

He _is_ attractive, you admit. Dark hair styled in a way that complements his bone structure; a chiseled jaw dusted with stubble. His eyes are kind, almost tentative—a kind of charm you would have found appealing—but that was before you met Loki.

Yep, he’s definitely ruined all men for you now.

“Here to try to win a date, I guess.” He shrugs, breathing out a short laugh and letting his grin linger. You notice it’s a little lopsided.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t you send me thumbs up emojis?”

“I did. Yeah, uh, I did.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “But your friend, Isla, convinced me to come over here and you know. Do the ‘gentlemanly’ thing. Said you like to play hard to get sometimes. And that includes pretending to be seeing someone.”

Damn Isla. Damn her and her meddling ways when you least need it. You want to tell him to leave, but he’s come all this way. You’ll deal with Isla later.

Your gaze lingers on the flowers behind his back, and he notices this. Quickly he holds them out to you. “Yeah—these are for you. Of course. Who else would they be for?” He chuckles nervously.

Your hands clasp around the base, your hands brushing briefly, and you give him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Look, I’m really flattered you did all this, came all this way… I can see the effort, but… I’m kind of… busy?”

Internally you grimace. Why do you sound so unsure of yourself?

“Oh, no worries. Isla cleared your lunch break.”

You swallow a sigh. _You’ll deal with Isla later._

He holds out his arm to you. “Well, shall we?”

You gesture to the bouquet in your hands. “Let me put this away first?”

Jacob—Jake—is a pretty nice guy. Lunch with him is actually—well, _nice_ , pleasant at best, even after you broke to him that you haven’t been lying to him and that you are seeing someone. Isla doesn’t know yet. But he’s nice about it. In fact, maybe even a little _too nice_.

But you don’t question it. Instead you talk about your similar interests—of which there are many—until your lunch break comes to an end. When it’s time to go he stands and gives you a platonic hug, his clean scent enveloping you as your arms come around his waist.

An unorthodox goodbye for a first meeting, but you don’t read into it.

He walks you up back into your office, that friendly lopsided half-grin on his face. You really would have been into him, you think, had Loki never been in the picture. But he is, and he’s _real_ , you remind yourself, and the things he’s shown you so far has you craving for things you know in your gut only he can fill. No one else.

“So… it was nice getting to know you,” Jacob says.

“You too,” you say truthfully. “I’m sorry it’s not what you signed up for.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He takes a deep breath before adding, “Friends?”

“Friends,” you agree.

“Then I’ll get going. I guess I’ll see you around.” He takes a step towards you, an internal conflict seemingly going on in his mind, and then he plants a chaste kiss on your temple.

The shock on your face must be evident, because he only smirks when he pulls away and walks towards the elevator.

As if on cue, your phone rings. Isla’s caller ID flashes on screen. “Isla,” you say, eyes trained on the elevator doors closing.

“So…” Her voice is giddy; she’s barely containing her excitement and you roll your eyes.

You sigh, shaking your head as you walk towards your cushy desk chair. “We need to talk about how you get to control my lunch breaks and I can’t.”

You haven’t thought about Loki after lunch, which, come to think of it, helps you focus on your work. Aside from that, there isn’t enough of an ache between your legs anymore to remind you of last night—but now that you’re heading back home you _are_ kind of hoping to remedy that tonight.

Last night was incredible, hot in every way. Except… you want to feel sore _all_ over all day. Maybe you’re a masochist, but that’s the only kind of pain you want and are willing to endure.

And you want that kind of pain with Loki.

You wonder what’s in store tonight. If Loki’s introduced you to a world of sexual pleasure through each sense, you’ve got four more nights to go. Each one will probably be delicious and exhilarating in their own unique way.

And when Loki appears to you that night, it’s no surprise that there’s only a smidge of friction between your folds.

Loki saunters towards you with an easy smirk on his face. The front of his shirt is open, exposing the skin of his strong chest. There’s something about the tease of his skin that makes you squirm—just a little—in excitement.

“My, my,” he drawls as he approaches, smirk transforming into a devilish grin as he takes you in. You’re propped up on your elbows with your chest puffed out, emphasizing the neckline of your nightie that tapers down just enough to fuel _his_ imagination for a change.

Not that he needs it. He’s seen you naked.

Nonetheless, you hope you look as sexy as you feel.

“Looks like I’ve got an eager little kitten begging to play.” He sits at the edge of your mattress right beside your thighs, planting his arms on either side of you as he leans in for a kiss. You open your mouth readily for him, matching his fervent nibbles until you realize you’ve been unwittingly maneuvered back into a lying position.

You want to get started right away this time, considering that he’s been drawing out the _foreplay_ to the foreplay every time he steps into the confines of your bedroom.

Only Loki freezes, and his expression is far from the seductive playfulness mere moments ago. His eyes are trained on the vase that sits in the corner of your room.

“What are those?” he asks, mild disgust lacing his words.

You’re taken aback by the sharp change in atmosphere. “Um. Flowers?” you answer, sitting up.

“From whom?” His tone is icy, his gaze hard. There’s something about the raw emotion on his face, unhindered, that makes your mouth open in a little O shape. He’s always been so calm, seductive, in _control_ of his emotions. This… this is uncharted territory.

“Do not lie to me,” Loki says sternly, jerking you from your minute of spacing out. “From whom are the flowers, kitten?”

“Jacob,” you say, deflating a little.

Loki’s nostrils flare slightly as he stands. He tries to keep his voice level. “Did we not come to an agreement last night, pet?”

“Well, I guess—hey, Loki, wait—”

Loki’s walked over to the vase of flowers, breathing deeply. He’s glaring daggers at the offending bouquet, and your gaze flits from his terse posture to the vase.

And then petal by petal, one flower begins to spark, catching fire.

“Loki!”

You don’t exactly know how things stand between you and Loki, but you don’t think twice when you pull him away. His narrowed eyes remain on the flower for a few more beats before settling on you. “What?” he snaps when he finally faces you.

“You need to relax.” You stare at each other, unflinching. “Put out the fire!”

He doesn’t even glance at it. “Give me one good reason.”

“Because I don’t want my place to burn down.”

The air is tense, charged with the crackle of irritation that radiates off Loki. His mouth is pressed into a hard line, and his gaze is unfaltering. You continue to stare him down, your own chest heaving, and you repeat in a stern tone, _“Put out the fire.”_

He’s deathly calm when he takes a step towards you, and you swear you feel the _slightest_ yet most tangible shift in the atmosphere. From angry and almost sinister to something… sexual. That one dominant step to you, closing the distance between your chests, his unwavering gaze—the challenge—has you unconsciously swallowing a lump in your throat.

“I will,” he says, his voice low and dark and just _fucking sexy_ even when it shouldn’t be, “later. _Later,_ pet. Let the fire burn for now.”

“Why?” you demand, taking a step back to fold your arms over your chest. What the hell, why is your heart beating so fast? Could he feel that?

He closes the distance between you once more; one possessive, nearly _territorial_ step forward, that causes your stomach to hitch. “I could relieve myself of this… this _jealousy_ in other ways. It is taking me a great deal of self-restraint not to spank your rear until it turns the loveliest shade of red, I’ll have you know. But we have plans tonight that I intend to fulfill and I will not let them go to waste. The fire will”—his head slants to the flowers, and then he rests his hard gaze back on you—“suffice, for now.”

Your heart thumps. Once, twice, a steady _lubb-dupp_ that seems to fill your ears. You can see just how Loki’s pupils dilate when his eyes dip subtly to glance at your heaving chest. He can see, _feel_ your arousal now. Probably. Most likely. You wouldn’t put it past him.

You lick your bottom lip, letting it rest between your teeth and relish the way Loki’s eyes fixate on your mouth. This side of Loki is new. It’s new and exciting and fucking _arousing_. Fresh heat surges to your core as you imagine Loki having his wicked way with you.

But you don’t have to imagine.

With a burst of boldness, you press your chest against Loki’s, looking up at him through lidded eyes, and whisper, “Then do it.”

Loki sucks in a breath and almost immediately—fuck, his incubus virility is something you have yet to understand—you feel him harden. And then, he surprises you when he asks, “Are you sure?”

You hook your fingers into his trousers and pull him even closer to your body. “More than ever.”

He exhales, almost like he can’t wait to get started, and the fire in his eyes rivals the one that currently consumes Jacob’s gift.

Loki snaps his fingers and your eyes are shrouded in darkness. Last night has you prepared for this so it doesn’t take you by surprise. The heat of his body disappears from your front, leaving you to briefly wonder what he’s planning. Your heart is still racing, a rapid _thump-thump-thump_ against your ribcage as you wait for Loki’s next move.

Something cool and sharp presses against your clavicle. Your heart feels like it fucking beats out of your chest, panic slamming through your consciousness reflexively, and the next thing you know your nightie is pooled around your ankles.

Before you can open your mouth to protest—well, more like berate him because he just cut through your clothes—Loki announces, “Tonight’s lesson: touch. However, before that, you need to learn a few things. The importance of listening to me. And keeping your word.”

Goosebumps rise on your exposed skin. You’re buck naked in front of him, but somehow you don’t feel vulnerable. Maybe it’s because you can’t see him.

The cool tip that slashed through your nightie’s straps points into your skin. Not enough to puncture you but enough for you to know that it’s sharp, capable of splitting skin if you jerked any which way. So you stand, unmoving, following the sensation as it traces your collarbones until the flat, cool press of metal caresses the underside of your chin.

A blade of some kind. Maybe a knife, a dagger?

Well, you’re officially marked down as scared and horny.

“Remember, sweet, I’m not going to hurt you,” Loki murmurs, running the blade along each side of your jaw, your neck craned. “But you must admit, this is exhilarating. Sometimes it’s fun to court danger.” Loki draws his hand away, the chill of the metal now absent. You swallow thickly. “Sometimes danger courts you.”

A breath catches in your throat as Loki wraps his fingers over your wrist, tugging you while you stumble along. Rather ungracefully you fall forward before you’re able to regain your bearings. You’re lying on your stomach, splayed over Loki’s spread thighs. Your arms cushion your torso on one muscular leg while your hips drape the other.

You get the feeling you might cause a mess on Loki’s leg.

“Now, sweet,” Loki muses, his large hand settling onto your naked bottom, “you seemed quite eager to receive this punishment. I want to remind you that although I do not appreciate Jacob’s gift, I do this for your pleasure. If you would like to stop, at any time, your wish is my command.”

Something inside you softens at Loki’s preface, but it’s overshadowed by the growing arousal that pools in your center. “Okay.”

“Good.” He glides a hand around each cheek, gently cupping around each one, moving ever so slowly on each.

“Such a beautiful bottom,” he comments, squeezing lightly. “I would love to mark it. Leave my mark on you. Claim you as _mine_ , as you rightfully are.”

_Fuck, yes please._ You rest your head on your forearms, your fingers beginning to dig into his calves.

“Do you know what you did?” he breathes. He bends down, brushing his lips against your exposed nape, giving one ass cheek a firm yet gentle squeeze. You grit your teeth, trying your damnedest not to squirm nor make a sound. He hasn’t even spanked you, not yet, but the anticipation coils tight already.

When you said you were a masochist, for some reason _this_ was not what you had in mind. But the idea of Loki smacking your rear until it turns red raw has heat pooling into you full force. And when Loki pats one ass cheek, just enough for it to jiggle, the ripples resonate into your cunt. Your breathing grows a tad more labored now.

“An answer, pet.” His fingernails scrape over your soft flesh, the sharp pain causing your hips to twitch upwards and off of Loki’s knee for a quick moment.

It takes you a second to float back down from your arousal and find your coherency. “If you’d just let me explain—”

_Smack!_

You forcefully bite down on your lip, unsure if the sound caught in your throat is a moan or a yelp, or something in between. The intensity of the slap catches you off-guard, an electrifying shock traveling towards your clit: as if there’s a secret bridge connecting the receptors of your ass and your cunt.

Loki rubs his hand over your ass in hypnotic, light circles. “Yes or no, sweet. Just those two.”

“Y-yes,” you whimper.

“And what am I going to do with you, hmm? Spank you until you cry mercy? But you’re a little slut for punishment, aren’t you?” His other hand fingers through your hair, and he tugs at it while he _squeezes_ as he whispers darkly, “Almost as much of a slut for my cock.”

You inhale, shaky and sharp, at his words.

Before you can even process your own arousal, the weight of his words on you, he brings his hand down again, smacking you right in the center. There it is again—the vibrations, the aftershocks that ripple towards your cunt, your _clit._ You tense up and melt into him at the same time.

“I expect an answer when I ask a question.” Loki slaps your ass, almost rhythmically. He lets it jiggle, bounce before administering another soft blow. It’s mesmerizing, and you just can’t fucking help it when your mind flutters into yet another filthy plane of consciousness.

Loki, nails digging into your hips, cock ramming into you in slow, deep thrusts. Your face flat down on the bed and your ass in the air. He takes you from behind, again and again; the way your ass moves every time he pulls out of you means that _your cunt is never going to stop feeling the delicious thrum of pleasure—_

“It appears that you rather enjoy this punishment—which would defeat the purpose, no?”

Somewhere in the haze of your mind, you know he’s going to make a point you don’t like… but your thoughts are sluggish from the lustful state he’s put you in. So you keep quiet as he continues.

“You know I’d love to pleasure you, sweet, but sometimes leaving you wanting more gives the most… well, delectable reactions.” Loki glides his hands over the backs of your thighs, intentionally allowing his fingers to dip close to your wet warmth. “Don’t you agree?”

No. No, you don’t agree, you want— _need_ —him to spank you again and again, until you orgasm—

His hand smooths over the flesh of your ass and slopes over your curves, and something about that simple gesture just has you shivering like a feline being pet.

“I want you to count to five for me, sweet.”

Five. Just five. A twinge of disappointment threatens to seep into your veins but you push it away before it can take hold. Instead, you swallow and manage to say, “Yes, Loki.”

There’s a pause; one where you become more aware of your breathing and the seconds that tick past. The silk around your eyes only heightens your anticipation. You tighten your grip around Loki’s leg in an attempt to anchor yourself.

“Ready?” Loki says, running a hand over your backside.

“Yes.”

You anticipate the first slap, honestly. You expect it to sting, a sharp but tolerable pain ringing throughout your flesh—only when it happens, you can’t help the breath that’s knocked out of you. It’s _more_ than what you imagined—of fucking course, everything is _more_ when it comes to Loki, but you don’t expect to feel _that_ much pleasure from it.

_“Count,”_ he says roughly.

“O-one,” you squeak out.

_Smack!_ The second one resounds throughout your bedroom, and your clit pulses in glee at the tingling aftershocks it receives. You pant, clenching your lower half.

“Two.”

He rubs your backside, before massaging the base of your spine. “Alright so far, kitten?” he asks.

_Why the fuck did you stop_ , you want to tell him, but you’re so tense that you can only manage single syllables. The sting is more than tolerable, but what you love the most is how he inexplicably found the spot that makes your pussy clench. Hell, you didn’t even know it _existed._

“Good,” you say through grit teeth.

And then lightning fast, _slap!_ Your toes curl at the blow before you can stop yourself. Your mind spins at the sensations. Pain and pleasure blur into one, causing you to momentarily forget that you should be counting.

“Three.”

Two more to go, you realize with a minuscule pang of frustration. Loki administers another blow to your backside and this time a muffled groan rips from your throat involuntarily. You bury your face in his lap.

“What was that, sweet?” Loki asks, kneading at one cheek.

“Nothing,” you reply a little too quickly. Then, before you forget, “Four.”

He rubs your ass in a manner that’s both comforting and preparatory. The fact that he’s settled on _just five spanks_ has you a tiny bit disappointed, but knowing Loki he’s not going to leave you high and dry—not tonight at least.

“Last one,” he drawls, nipping at your earlobe from behind, “make it count.”

You’re more than prepared for it but when it happens—shit, you can’t stop the half-strangled, half-garbled _uunngh_ that pulls from your throat. Your eyes roll back into your head as your toes curl, the pleasure coursing through your lower half. And your clit, oh sweet mercy: it’s practically throbbing, begging for his touch.

Touch. The lesson tonight.

_Fuck,_ you can’t wait.

“Fi-five,” you moan. Your grip on Loki’s leg has tightened like a vice, and he has to pry your fingers away. He helps you to your feet and continues to hold you.

“Good girl,” he says, tipping your chin upwards as he holds you upright. Your legs are shaking so much that you’re glad he’s supporting you. One strong arm circles around your waist while his other hand cups your jaw.

He kisses you fiercely with an intensity you can only describe as possessive. His lips and tongue are urgent; feverish and frantic. He sucks momentarily on your tongue, in time with your thrumming cunt, electricity buzzing underneath your skin.

When he pulls away, he says, “ _Now_ , we begin.”

With a snap of his fingers you’re lying back down on your bed. Still completely naked, you note. You’ve never really paid attention to how your covers feel against your entire body until now; there’s an eroticism you can’t put into words.

“Arms up, legs open,” Loki instructs.

You lift your arms over your head. Loki positions each arm against the mattress, making sure each ends with your fingers grazing the headboard. He trails his fingers over your legs, from the graceful curve of your hips to your ankles. A thrill runs down your spine when he spreads your legs even wider.

You’re spread-eagled, exposed, and extremely horny.

“No movements, sweet, unless I tell you otherwise. If anything becomes too much for you, you must tell me. Clear?”

You swallow, running your tongue over your bottom lip. “Crystal.”

Loki pecks you on the lips, then twice on your jaw. In a husky voice that sounds like pure sin, he whispers, “Focus on the pleasure. Everything you feel on your skin… and inside.”

The finality in which he says it leads you to believe that this lesson is going to be spent in mostly silence—but you’re too fucking excited that you can’t spare a second thought for it.

The quiet that greets you, the same one as last night, makes you antsy. One shallow breath, then two; _fuck, where is he?_ And then—a long, ribbon-like material begins to slide up your body, from your inner ankle to the apex of your thighs. Something like silk.

It slithers over each leg, slow and seductive, and then slips around your torso. You suck in a breath when it circles around your breasts, the seam flicking against your nipples. Your lips part slightly as it glides further north, around your neck and then up your arms.

And then… oh fuck, it’s wrapped around your wrist. Disbelieving, you tug at your hand—and sure enough, there’s a distinct tension that keeps you from bringing it towards your body. Keeps it in place around the headboard.

You try your other wrist but _what the fuck, it’s suffering the same predicament?_

Suffering’s a strong term, you correct yourself. Considering how dripping your folds are, suffering is _definitely_ _not_ something you’re experiencing. You feel so exposed, so on display, just for him—and it just turns you on even more. Try as you might—not that you want to—there’s no stopping Loki from doing whatever he wants to your body. All the titillating touches and hoarse whispers and decadent images that bloom in your thoughts make you lightheaded.

With a delicious fire simmering in the pit of your belly, it’s clear that Loki’s restrained you for pleasure and pleasure alone.

He could do _anything_ to you. And you’d let him.

“Good, sweet?” His voice slides up to ear level, exceptionally close to you. Enough that his hot breath fans across the side of your face.

If you’d just turn to the side—brush your lips against his, or maybe even bite—

“Must I restrain your neck as well, sweet?” Loki asks, running his index finger along the column of your throat. “Collar you like a true pet? Oh, that _would_ excite you. Look at you. I can practically see it from how you’re breathing.”

An image of you being tied up and collared surges to the fore, vivid and exquisite in detail. Your throat jumps when his hand closes—gently, no pressure at all—around your throat for a split second.

“L-Loki…” you breathe.

Just as quickly, his thumb brushes against the side of your neck and he withdraws. His large hand clasped around your throat awakens a very specific need inside you. You’re going to have to revisit that and voice it out at a later time.

He chuckles. “I know, sweet. Are your restraints comfortable enough?”

“Yes.” You tug at your wrists once more.

“Perfect. Keep your legs open, and tell me what this is.”

There’s a beat of silence once more and you take this opportunity to flex your walls to alleviate some pent up arousal. It’s humming in your core, the heat that seems to arc and then ebb away. You’re hyper-fixated on your skin, awaiting any stimulus.

When Loki speaks, however, it catches you off-guard, whipping you away from the headspace you’ve settled in.

“Touch is a powerful thing,” he says. “It can convey all sorts of emotions that words may lack—the subtle brush of fingers, the strong grip around a wrist.” He runs the back of his hand along your jaw, down to the curve of your breast. “There’s a saying, is there not? Actions speak louder than words? Well, I personally believe they hold equal weight, but… ah, I think I’ve drawn this out long enough.”

_Damn right,_ you think. _I need you to touch me._

Loki’s light laugh leads you to believe that you’ve said the last part out loud. The timbre of his laugh is intoxicating and _hell,_ why does it turn you on even more?

Your mind jumps from one thing to another until Loki gives you something to focus on: which is an airy, almost ticklish sensation that ghosts along the insides of your calves. In the deep recesses of your mind, you reckon it’s a feather. Everywhere it caresses, it lights a spark of arousal in its wake. It tingles on your skin. Makes you clench unwittingly as it grazes higher and higher, closer to your cunt.

As it crawls along your thighs, you imagine its gentle brush against your already sensitive pussy. How it awakens each nerve ending, burning a unique, sultry signature into your skin. Fuck, you think, if you can still feel it on your legs even if Loki isn’t using it on you there… how much more if…

You never get to find out. It skips over your center entirely, to your dismay. Instead you feel it curling around your extended arms from your wrist down to the side of your breasts. Goosebumps rise pleasurably over your chest, perking up your nipples. It flicks over each of your nipples until they’re even more sensitive and as the feather travels down to the valley between your breasts, skimming over the tense muscles of your abdomen, you release a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Even the lightest, most controlled caress of a finger doesn’t hold a candle to the feeling of a feather tracing over your body. It kisses over your waist in a subtlety that causes your breathing to hitch underneath it. You want it to go even farther, even _lower_ , but as it trails arbitrary patterns over your skin it jerks back towards your breasts.

You just know Loki’s paying attention to the smallest shifts in your expressions. The demon enjoys seeing you squirm, _making_ you squirm until you beg—but you won’t.

Not yet.

You plan on drawing out this pleasure further, decency be damned. It’s not as if this whole arrangement is decent to begin with. There’s nothing wrong in basking in the sweet torture that Loki seems to love to give you.

Briefly you wonder if his eyes are dilated with lust; if he’s holding the feather in his deft fingers or using his incubus powers to incite the crashing arousal in you. You wonder if he’s ever going to let that damned feather swipe across your fucking folds—

It doesn’t. It’s a shame, really. Your cunt is practically ready, nearly hypersensitive to any outside stimulus. The air caresses your center surreptitiously, and that already sets you off. But Loki doesn’t let the feather anywhere near you, the fucking bastard. Instead he pulls it away just before it can brush against your mound, teasing you until it reaches the point where your slit _just_ begins.

Fucking tease.

“Exquisite how the barest of caresses can leave so much of a mark as the roughest slaps, yes?” Loki says, a sly grin in his voice.

You open your mouth to respond but Loki only presses his finger to your lips. You’re silenced even before you can say anything, but you don’t particularly mind. Instead you relish the way his finger sweeps across your bottom lip. The action has you pulling it between your teeth momentarily.

Loki’s hands glide up your arms: an easy, tender reassurance. And then your body seizes up from the shock of cold that kisses your lips. The heat of your lips melts it slowly, and it moves down to your throat where you realize, from the chill of the water dribbling down your skin, that Loki’s running a _fucking ice cube_ around your body.

The rivulets of cold water course down the sides of your throat, and every gust from the air conditioner causes you to shiver. Loki continues down your body, a man on a mission it seems, drawing circles around the base of one of your breasts and circling it around it, _higher and higher,_ climbing until it reaches the peak of your nipples.

And when he pulls it away, trailing it over your other breast, he fucking _blows_ the most sensual stream of air on it, and your head falls back in poorly restrained bliss.

_Get it in your mouth,_ you think feverishly. _Let me feel that contrast of hot and cold._

You think he does, or that he will, but to your mild disappointment (yet again), he doesn’t. Instead he focuses on your other breast and gives it the same treatment. It’s wonderful, but to you, it isn’t enough. But you’ll take what you can get. Besides—you never knew having something cold and wet over your body could be so… so _hot._

The ice cube inches its way down the center of your chest, your sternum chilled, and your stomach hitches as it lingers in one spot. And then Loki’s maneuvering it, pushing it towards each side of your waist, tracing circles and lines and your mind is a fucking _mess_ right now trying to keep up when it rides over a stretch of warm skin and the aftermath, the trail it leaves in its wake. You fidget in your constraints as goosebumps continue to prick up on your body.

And it slides lower, and _lower,_ slipping towards the hottest part of your body right now—

And then it disappears.

“Loki,” is all your lust-addled brain can contribute. You want him to touch you. More importantly, you want to cum.

“Patience, little one,” Loki chastises gently, catching you offguard and taking a breast in his hand, _squeeeezing_ so that your back arches off the mattress in pleasure. Your mouth opens at the abrupt roughness, mind keeling at the delightful mix of sensations.

A quiet curse tumbles from your lips in the shape of a moan, and Loki rewards your blatant show of pleasure with a sharp pinch to your nipple. And then he’s rolling it between his fingers, his other hand palming the breast that’s not receiving as much attention, and you can feel his touch receding so you arch your back higher and higher until your restraints pull you back down.

_Fuck. This is what you wanted._ You’re positive you’re leaking onto the bed now. You’re not even close to cumming but the intensity of which you feel things and the way your body is reacting makes you think that you might not cum just once tonight.

The warmth of his hands pulls away from you, but before you can whine his lips take your bottom lip between his teeth without warning, sucking on it like a man deprived. It makes you dizzy, eyes rolling back and toes curling. Your instinct is to wrap your arms around him, pull him closer—

But you can’t.

The silk circling your wrists keep you locked in place, your body his to discover and explore and _touch to his heart’s content. Shit._ The thought fills you with an immense longing to be ravaged. To allow overstimulation to bring you to orgasm again and again and again, until you can’t do a thing. Loki has, in this moment, so much power over you. He can do whatever he wants. You’d let him.

You moan into his mouth when he runs a hand down your side, thumb scraping over your breast while his fingers sink into each curve he comes across. He licks into your mouth, hungry, wild—as if a carnal need overrides his senses. He kisses you with a ferocity that’s near animalistic, rough with his bites, as though he needs to share the intensity of his passion with you until you feel exactly what he does.

His hands continue to roam, spreading the cool water over the entire front of your torso. The heat that radiates off you and Loki is a striking polar opposite.

Your neck arches as Loki moves down to plant kisses along your throat. As his lips trail fire over you, his hands rove lower; they’re over your belly now. His fingers circle your hips, claw into your skin. Possessively. Each blunt nail marks you with little half-moons that seem to proclaim one primal thought— _Mine. All of you._

You’re breathless. Loki’s particularly territorial today and you can sense it, _feel it_ , with every kiss and caress and bite. The pulsing of your clit is more pronounced, ladling excitement into your core in long-awaited anticipation.

“I’m going to touch you,” Loki says in a gravelly voice when he pulls away. “May I, sweet?”

Your chest heaves at his question, and you pull your inner walls together as you manage a wanton, “Please.”

The entirety of Loki’s large, warm hand flattens above your navel. His fingers point downward: a clear indication of where this is heading.

_Excruciatingly_ slowly, Loki glides his hand down—down— _down_ —the pressure he applies gets lighter the closer he gets to your cunt. Fire licks at you, fanning flames into your deepest parts as your breathing grows more ragged from the tension from Loki’s teasing fingers at your mound.

He ghosts a finger over your slit, one clean line that traces the little cleft from top to bottom. You’re not sure if you’re more embarrassed or more turned on by the fact that Loki’s collected your juices by barely even touching you.

A garbled mess of words, combined with the rush of relief and satisfaction that tsunamis over you, is the product of Loki _plunging_ a finger into your warmth. Pleasure sears through you like wildfire.

Especially when Loki expertly pumps his finger in and out of you.

“This warm, wet cunt. Absolutely soaking for me. _Just for me._ ” One hand rakes into your hair and then fists it. You bite back a moan. “See how slick you are at _my_ touch. _My_ words. _My_ doing.”

His finger twists and plunges back into you, over and over, setting a pace that has you writhing in time with him. Meeting him thrust for thrust—at least, as much as you can while you’re tied up. His dexterous finger explores you with ease as he fucks you with it, and coupled with his whispered dirty nothings you’re close to falling apart. Your breathing is extraordinarily labored. Irregular. You’re feverish all over your body, and your hands latch onto the headboard for support.

And then he adds a second finger, curling up and hitting your G-spot so _perfectly_ that your hips rise off the bed in earnest.

“Loki!” you rasp when his fingers sweep across the nerves that make you shudder in delicious arousal. You want him to do it again to nudge your orgasm closer.

Only his fingers start to pump a little more shallowly, and your hips chase after it in vain. No, _no, no no no no_ —

“Am I to be the only one to give you pleasure? Will you grant me that privilege?”

_Fuck_ , the rough desire in his voice leaves no room for questions. It’s not like he’s even asking, he’s _demanding_ it. He grabs one of your breasts in his large palm, nipple caught between two of his fingers as he fucking _squeeeezes_ again and he shoves his other hand back between your legs, nestling a finger between your folds and pressing _hard_ on your clit.

“Answer me,” he growls.

“Fuck! Yes, Loki,” you cry, a wave of ecstasy crashing over you. “Yours, just yours, I—shit, Loki, please, _please,_ I need—”

“Need what?”

_Fucking hell,_ your body is so tense, your legs spread so wide it’s obscene, but you don’t care because you’re after one thing only.

And Loki begins his torturous, wicked game with your clit, toying with it so _fucking_ slowly that you can’t even grind against his hand because you can’t move any lower.

You half-gasp, half-groan out, “You, Loki, I need you—your fingers, your body— _ah_ —”

“Only mine,” he cuts in. The pressure on your clit makes your back arch and your head fall uselessly against your extended arm.

There’s only one way to get what you want, and so you affirm, agree with him, and finally, _finally_ , your aching clit gets the attention it was so desperate for the entire night.

He rubs you at breakneck speed. You can barely keep up, your mouth falling open as soon as he starts plunging his fingers into you again—shit, how’s that even possible? You clamp tightly around him, wanting him deeper, wanting him to fill you up, stretch you—

Loki starts scissoring you and you sob brokenly at the pure bliss.

“Loki—Loki, please let me—let me cum, please, I really—” You’re a babbling mess now, desperate for _more,_ and the silk digs into your skin as you try to get even closer to his touches. “I-I’ll be good, I’m just— _fuck!_ —yours, I swear—”

Loki’s nose presses against your jaw and there’s a delectable shudder that runs down your spine when you feel his legs straddling you.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he commands in a dark whisper.

“You—”

_“Who?”_

“Ah, _fuck—_ you, Loki, I belong to you—”

Your mind is overridden with the pleasure, your body tensing further and your grip on the silk turning to steel as Loki coaxes you into the familiar climb to orgasm. You pant, mindlessly repeating that you’re his and _fuck—right there—_ and it’s only him, there’s no one else, you’re his to mark and claim and ravage—

And Loki’s hands just roam over you endlessly. You can’t process how, but it’s like he’s touching you everywhere all at once—your breasts, your stomach, your arms, neck—all the while fingering you into oblivion. Your cunt loses its rhythm as it clenches, heat coiling in your center as finally, yes, _yes_ —you’re almost there—

Loki claims your mouth with a muttered, “Mine,” as his fingers continue their sweet assault on your clit, pushing you over the edge and into the explosion of orgasm. Your legs shake as you release, panting his name into his open mouth while you shatter in mind-numbing ecstasy.

You think he’s about to slow down, but Loki only brings a hand over your breast, kneading it—you gasp as he grabs a handful of your ass and then slides his hand over your chest again—and then _fuck, briefly brushes against your throat_ while he only ups the momentum in your cunt.

Another orgasm begins to crest inside you, a tidal wave building strength, and your mouth opens and your face scrunches as you focus on the powerful surge and Loki—oh, Loki’s skilled fingers, you think brokenly, you want them inside you forever—

“Cum again for me,” Loki commands, hot breath on your jaw. “Cum for me and show me who you belong to.”

He fingers your G-spot and your clit in perfect time and you’re cumming, again, a second time. It’s strong, stronger than you anticipate. Your lower half spasms as Loki rocks his fingers inside you, milking your orgasm with his fingers that are so slick with your juices that you can _hear_ it.

_Fuck._

You’re completely spent as you come down from your high. There is no other thought in your mind; you only process Loki slowing down until he pulls out his fingers.

Your blindfold is taken off and you regard Loki through lidded, satiated eyes. He’s breathing hard, staring at your naked form like a lion observing its prey.

He straddles you, straightening his back and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s sitting right on your swollen flesh. You can feel his erection through his pants—fuck, if your hands weren’t tied right now, you’d definitely—

“Have you learned your lesson?” Loki asks, grinding little circles on top of you.

You bite your lip, keeping your gaze locked on him. Your arousal, your effort to hold in a moan—you attempt to convey it with your eyes. “Yes, Loki.”

“Good girl.” He strokes your naked body as he lowers himself so his bulge presses directly against your cunt. “There’s still much to learn. And from what I can see”—he stretches towards you, until you’re nose to nose—“you are a very eager and willing student.”

Your mind flashes to an image of your hand wrapped around Loki’s shaft, his hips rutting into your hands until thick, white ropes of cum smatter across your chest.

Loki smirks, his hungry eyes never leaving yours. “In time,” he says, freezing his movements and bringing your jaw up to close your agape mouth.

He climbs off of you, smoothing the covers around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Your brow furrows. Wait, that’s it? You thought you’d be giving him a handjob tonight, but he’s just leaving you after you orgasm? Not that you’re complaining, since you can’t exactly move right now, but—

“Loki?” you say. “Loki, what about my wrists?”

“Ah. Don’t worry sweet, they’ll come off as soon as you fall asleep. Think of it as…” His head cocks to the side, a wicked smirk on his face. “Your actual punishment.” He kisses you on the mouth, nibbling at your lips twice, and when he pulls away with a shit-eating grin on his face he says, “Sweet dreams.”

And then he’s gone. Fucking leaves you tied up. It’s not too much of a big deal, but frustration begins to well up within you as minutes pass and you can’t sleep.

You’re still pretty horny, and Loki has taken away the one way for you to relieve yourself while he’s away.

Talk about punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> Spotify playlist is on my tumblr: www.bellesque.tumblr.com :)


	5. Smell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a completely different direction than what I was planning during the early stages. Like it's not even that centered around smell anymore but we're gonna roll with it okay
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**THE SILK TIES** aren’t by your pillow or above your head where you expect them to be. Just like the previous night, they’re folded on your nightstand when you wake up.

It’s still too early for your brain to process how exactly they ended up there, so instead of falling into the rabbit hole of hypothesizing just what kind of magic Loki has, you swing your body over the side of the bed and make for the bathroom. Not even two steps forward, your muscles ache with the evidence that you finally got what you hoped for—or at least, something close to it. You haven’t exactly been fucked yet.

But ah, the sweet soreness. The greatest tangible reminder of a mind-blowing night. Last night. Touch.

_Loki’s_ touch.

As you get into the shower, you replay the events of last night. Each drop of water that slides down your body is a reminder of the cold, melted ice cube that swirled around your breasts. Even the sigh that echoes in the bathroom is a reminder of your breathy pleas.

Your folds begin to slicken, and it’s not from the water.

You’re tempted to stay in this morning. Take a warm shower only to burrow back under the covers. It’s not that you’re tired—work on Fridays is always a little more relaxed, and everyone’s allowed to come in anytime as long as it’s before noon. You’ve sometimes taken advantage of that but you much prefer it if they let you out early.

Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed.

What are the odds Loki would make an appearance?

You’ll lose momentum, the rational part of you counters. There’s a manuscript that’s sitting on your desk, desperate to be chucked into the “Done” pile. You just have two more chapters to go.

_It’s just two chapters,_ the more _physical_ part of you rebuts in turn. You can finish it in the afternoon, no sweat. Today, this morning, _right now_ , the more important thing is Loki.

The smarter part of you flares up again, with a very good question armed and ready: but what if he doesn’t come?

You remember the time you slept like a baby through the night, wearing fucking lingerie for Loki, only for him to revisit you a week later. You’ve gotten stood up before, but even in your dreams? It’s embarrassing if it happens to you a second time.

You’re on autopilot, however, when you clamber back into bed and pull the duvet up to your chin. Thoughts of Loki and all his wicked words and ways fill every crevice of your mind. Emotions coupled with arousal crash over you, and with a shaky exhale your hand travels down between your legs.

The steady rhythm of your fingers, however, do not send you into orgasm—you drift back into sleep.

“Kitten?”

Your eyes snap open. In the hazy morning light that peeks through your curtains, you find Loki sitting cross-legged on the ottoman by the door.

Loki… here? Are you dreaming, or—wait, that wouldn’t—

Your brain hurts.

It’s so strange, seeing him here like this. Not cloaked in darkness, not illuminated by the moonlight—he’s an unfamiliar presence, almost otherworldly. A jarring image that sticks out from the normalcy and utter mundaneness of your room.

He cocks his head, lip curling in amusement as he regards you with wandering eyes. Uncrossing his long legs and leaving them spread open, he leans against the wall lazily.

“My, my, sweet. This is a pleasant surprise. A summons, at this hour.”

With a wave of his hand, the duvet falls away from you. Your heart leaps into your throat when you realize your hand is still buried between your legs. Loki’s eyebrows raise, the shock on his face equally as clear as his delight.

“A _very_ pleasant surprise indeed.”

You’ve already pulled your hand away, but the mortification lingers in your system. Not for long though. The weight of the reality of Loki’s presence sinks in and your heart rate slows to normal.

“Summons?” You yawn, sitting upright to see him better. His pronounced features are more defined, crisper and clearer. He’s even more stunning like this. Breathtaking.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

The simplicity of his statement jolts you awake. Or at least, as fully awake as you can be in this state.

He _is_ here. At a time that isn’t in the wee, ungodly hours of the night. There’s fucking _light_ outside, and even though he never said there were rules as to when he’d appear, you half expect him to spontaneously combust.

“I’d ask if I’m dreaming, but I don’t think the answer would be very helpful,” you mumble.

Loki lets out an amused huff, his green eyes twinkling at you. There’s something that looks eerily close to fondness in those eyes. A quiet undercurrent that you’re in no mood to analyze right now.

Yeah, the more time that passes with him in the room—dominant, unimposing, sexy—just makes you horny.

You’re not sure what takes over you when you slide off the bed, placing one foot in front of the other until you’re standing in front of Loki in your rather sheer nighttime ensemble. If you have him here, now, in the light of day, you want to burn this image before you into your brain. Commit every slope of his face, every fleck in his eyes, each line in his lips to memory.

“You’re a smart woman,” Loki tells you, one hand extending out to stroke your forearm. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” You plant your knees on either side of him and sink your ass onto his lap. “Maybe later.”

The hand that was around your forearm slithers to cup your ass, closing the distance between you. His cock strains against his black pants and impulsively your eyes flick downwards to where your crotches meet.

You realize you haven’t seen it. Not yet, at least. You’ve felt how big he is, how strong and unyielding of a force of its own it is. How must it look? Feel against your naked skin, in your hand that’s tiny in comparison? How must it taste?

Oh. Oh, _shit_ , just the idea of it makes your mouth water. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, swirling and sucking and hollowing your cheeks until he cums.

_Fuck_ , his _fucking cum._

While your gaze has been lingering on his erection for definitely more than a few good seconds, Loki’s hands are rubbing the sides of your ass in hypnotic circles. “What’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours, sweet?”

_Cock cock cock cock cock._ That’s what’s going on in your mind.

“I want to see you,” you say instead, pressing your cunt against his erection. “Please, Loki, l—”

“Now where did this confidence come from?” Loki’s tone shifts, his expression hardening along with something _else._ As if it were even possible. “You _are_ a cock slut. _My_ little cock slut. Do you want me to take you right now? Right here?” His strong forearm hooks behind your waist, knocking the air out of you and sending a shudder down your spine. “I am a patient man, and I had hoped you would be patient as well.”

Arousal, thick and hot, simmers in your belly. There’s something about now that makes you think this is more a game than anything else. One that you’re definitely willing to play.

“Please, it’s been so long.” Your voice comes out like a plea. An impertinent whine. “Please—just fuck me already.”

Loki exhales hard, tightening his grip around you, his pants practically about to burst at the seams. He stares into your eyes, tongue tracing the tips of his teeth before he brings your face close to his and hisses one harsh yet titillating word: _“No.”_

He holds you. Just like that, your bodies meshed together, separated by clothes, your breaths mingling as you hover millimeters away from him. You could kiss him. Rake your hands in his hair. He could slide his hands over your ass over and over. But Loki doesn’t do anything, which somehow— _some-fucking-how—_ makes you want to be petulant.

With your eyes locked in a challenging gaze, you begin to rotate your hips on his twitching cock.

You watch his eyes widen minutely, pupils dilating, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. A small sense of victory sparks in you at his reaction, but you can’t relish the satisfaction because Loki’s lifting you off his lap, turning you around lightning fast as if you weigh nothing, so you’re straddling him with your butt to his crotch.

Maybe, you think as your breathing hitches when you realize you’re fucking _naked_ , maybe this is your victory. This is what you wanted all along.

Loki snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you to his strong chest with an audible thump. His breathing comes heavy and labored by your ear while his hand claws at your breast. “When I say no,” he growls, pinching and rolling your nipple over and over, your juices beginning to leak onto his pants, “it means _no._ You cannot out-seduce me. Not yet.”

His hand glides down your abdomen until one finger swipes against your slit. _Fuck,_ it makes you dizzy. You spread your knees wider, your neck falling back against his shoulder, as you flatten yourself so his fingers can reach inside you.

“Look at you. At this. You’re so _fucking_ wet.” He shoves the pad of his finger against your clit roughly, and you nearly arch away from him at the sudden stimulation. But Loki has you in a hold of steel, unable to move even an inch away from him.

It vaguely registers that this is the first time you’ve heard him curse. Fuck, you think with a fresh rush of arousal, you want him to curse again.

“To the floor,” Loki commands, emphasizing his words with a firm push forward.

“What?”

“I’m sure you heard me the first time, sweet. _To the floor._ ”

Loki holds your thighs as you bend forward, until your arms are braced against the soft gray rug. The upper half of your body hangs off Loki’s legs and slopes towards the floor, where your spine curves gently as your face and chest press into the rug. The thread tickles your breasts and goosebumps prick up on the skin surrounding it, spidering out and making you shiver. This is so new, so erotic in its novelty, that you don’t think it can get better.

But it does. Loki shifts your bottom higher, and your clit pulses painfully against his hard length. He brings your knees further apart, spreading you, until there’s a whisper of cool air against your blistering heat.

“Do you think you can tell me what to do?” He roughly grabs the meat of your ass, molding it against his hand and letting it bounce when he takes his hand way. “Tell me when to fuck you?”

You know it’s coming before it even happens. It’s like you’re in sync, in a spontaneous dance you both know the next steps to.

A loud and sharp smack fills the room, the familiar vibrations in this new angle causing you to contort your face as you hold back your moan. Loki can see your ass and your sopping cunt from where he sits, all on perfect display for his enjoyment. He deals another blow to your other ass cheek and then rubs his hand over the mounds of flesh with barely restrained strength.

“ _I_ decide.” He traces the swollen lips of your cunt, and you begin to writhe and whimper as he teases you ever so agonizingly with the tip of his finger. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, only to sharply mewl when Loki punctuates your response with another slap.

“Good. So you can scream, whine, _beg me_ all you want, but you will take what I give you, when I give it to you. Let me make that crystal clear, sweet.”

Oh, it is. You really want to grind down on him—up, whatever direction—the logistics don’t matter as long as your cunt connects to his cock. He spreads your cheeks away and then towards your back, digging his fingernails into your soft flesh before he releases and smacks your bottom again, your toes curling.

“You will follow my orders when I give them, and you will not disobey me.”

There’s a polarizing debate that’s happening between your mind and your cunt right now: you’ve been pretty submissive up to now, and an obedient one at that. Maybe it’s because Loki’s here at a time that isn’t usual that makes you think that the rules don’t apply—or at least, there’s some leeway—but you want to deviate. Just a little. Just to see how far he’ll go.

Fuck, how horny _are_ you?

Your dilemma of whether to grind or not is taken away from you, which, in the foggy depths of your mind you’re not sure if that’s a relief or a disappointment.

But Loki plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you without warning, leaving you with no coherent thoughts and a simple, broken, “Fuck!”

He curls his fingers around your warmth, hooking around to hit your G-spot as he pumps in a sinful rhythm that’s got you moaning his name into the rug. The friction on your breasts makes you wetter and you present your ass to him like a humble offering.

“This glorious pussy,” Loki mutters, hips flexing to grind into your clit for a torturous split second. He pumps faster and deeper, the sounds of your sex obscenely filling the room. Your fingers claw at the rug as your hips stutter skyward, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers thrust for thrust.

“And my little cock slut.”

“ _Fuck,_ Loki, _please_ —”

He slaps your ass crudely, fingers still wrecking you from the inside out, and you cry out in a muffled whine. _Sweet mercy,_ that felt _fucking good._

_“No.”_

He somehow manages to go even deeper at this angle, hitting spots you didn’t even know were there let alone would make you cry and beg hoarsely, all the while brushing against your clit with the base of his fingers. It’s like pure magic and sex and lust and before you know it, you’re climbing into orgasm.

Loki pulls his fingers out of you with a growl, grabbing your hips and pulling your torso back up and against him. The abrupt shift has you stuttering forward, nearly losing balance, but Loki holds you securely.

With a searing kiss to the side of your neck, he spreads his knees so you spread even further, your ankles automatically anchoring around his hips. He pushes your pelvis out, shoves his hand back between your legs from behind you, and gives you a single order in your ear that melts you.

“Ride.”

Sinking onto his fingers, you do as you’re told, a sigh expelled from your lungs. You gyrate your hips, clenching your floor muscles, all the while trying not to moan and beg and curse all at the same time. Loki lets you do most, if not all of the work. A steady rhythm builds inside you, and then he takes you by surprise and brings a hand to the front of your mound, slipping inside the soft flesh and making contact with the nerves under the hood of your clit.

“Loki!” you rasp when his hands work in tandem. The hand in front of you works on your clit in steady, controlled circles and the one behind you strokes _right_ into your G-spot. It’s a simmering pot of heat and pleasure, your body warming up as it prepares for orgasm.

_“Faster,”_ he commands, curling both his fingers around your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back and you reach behind to grip his hair.

Your mouth falls open as you increase your tempo, your legs beginning to falter and shake. Loki’s practically holding you up, the forearm behind you now slick with your juices from your rigorous riding. He plants an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your shoulder, a sharp little nip to the skin, and he’s upping his pace while you bounce on top of him.

“L—Loki,” you pant, eyes lidded and vision hazy while the sensations burn white hot and seem to expand inside you, “Loki, I—”

“Cum,” he coaxes, sucking on your skin. “Do it for me.”

Your thighs shake with the tide of orgasm, and soon you’re quivering and babbling as your walls clench around Loki’s fingers, your cum seeping down and onto the crotch of his pants. Loki pulls you through your pleasure with dirty nothings and a slowed pace. You ride out your high lazily, sated and sweaty and out of breath. Your knees hurt from being bent for so long; you’re so tired you don’t think you can move. He places your feet flat on the ground and you remove your vicelike grip from his hair, limbs shaking like a leaf.

You didn’t expect a quickie like this, if you could even call it that. You fall limp on his lap, shifting so you’re more comfortable, and Loki tips your chin towards him and kisses you hungrily while your walls flutter post-release. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, his hands skimming over the sides of your hips.

You can feel your cum still on his fingers, which he paints your skin with, and arousal surges through like a bullet.

“You are amazing.”

The compliment catches you entirely off-guard. It’s as if he wasn’t just playing your body like an instrument in a filthy concert hall. Still, warmth floods your chest and you sleepily look up at him.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m sure you know you’re fucking phenomenal.”

Loki’s chest shakes with laughter, and then without another word he’s hooking an arm under your knee, the other around your back, and he carries you back to bed.

“Glorious woman.” He pauses when he pulls the duvet over your still naked body. “Might have to do something about _that_ , however.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, kitten. Just go to sleep.”

You notice the succinct kiss he presses to your hairline before your consciousness slips completely from you.

* * *

You’re an idiot.

It’s not that you mind that you were late for work. Other than a clipped, “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” from your boss, work was fine. You finished everything you were supposed to, which was a feat considering you came and left for work horny and thinking of Loki.

But still, you’re an idiot.

Not because your mind was elsewhere than at the office. Having Loki in your room during the day was an opportunity to _really look at him_. Memorize him. Something tells you that you’re not going to have an opportunity like that again, and you wasted it.

Well, not really. But this morning went in a completely different direction than what you initially planned.

You should have just sat in bed staring at him. Admired his beauty from afar. But somehow, you just gravitated towards him like it was instinct pulling you to.

Damn it, you just wanted to see him up close.

Still, this morning was incredibly hot—so you’re not beating yourself up over it _too_ much.

You’ll see him again tonight. And if you don’t, well, he _did_ say you summoned him. Even without you knowing. Maybe you could do it again.

Your mind churns with questions and thoughts as your hands fiddle with the silk ties he left. When you agreed to this, you didn’t think you would be obsessing over it the way you are now. You thought it’d be mindless sex, not something you’d be thinking about every waking moment now. How does it work? Summons? Who is he? Will you ever see him in the light of day?

You don’t mean to fall asleep on the couch with the TV in the background, but you do.

Something tickles your ankles.

You jerk your foot in an attempt to swat it away. Maybe it’s a fly.

Or not. The sensation returns, and while you try to ignore it your mind is already beginning to wake up.

You don’t expect to see Loki on the far side of your couch, your legs sprawled over his lap, his hands tracing delicate, arbitrary patterns over the bone of your ankle and eyes glued to the TV that’s still on.

“Late night television is awful. I pity the humans who are awake at this hour and have no good viewing selections.” He swivels his head to face you, an amused expression donning his features. “Why are you sleeping here, pet?”

You sit up and attempt to pull your legs closer to you, only Loki’s grip tells you that you shouldn’t. His lips curve in a gentle smile and you recall why you fell asleep here in the first place. Even illuminated by the unflattering light of your TV, Loki is beautiful. Without a doubt, he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Just fell asleep without meaning to.” You stretch your arms above your head, top riding up and exposing your skin. You note the way Loki’s eyes travel from yours down to your navel, and heat bubbles in your core.

“It’s not very comfortable here,” he murmurs, setting your feet on the floor so he can climb on top of you with ease. “Or are you developing a taste for uncomfortable positions?”

His lips latch onto your neck while the memory of you this morning, ass up and face down, flashes behind your eyelids. The heat that started in your core rockets down into your cunt.

Loki sucks a bruising kiss into your skin, and he pulls away to admire the way your skin flushes red. “Come, sweet. Your bed is far more comfortable than this lumpy thing.”

You follow him into the bedroom, him strutting in front of you as if it’s just as much _his_ place as it is yours. He stops in the middle, whirling round to face you with an expectant eyebrow quirked.

“I took the liberty,” he says, a note of pride in his tone.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Of?”

“Replacing that terrible excuse for a bouquet with something more tasteful.”

Your eyes dart to the corner where you had put the flowers Jacob gave you and sure enough, the vase and its contents are gone. Granted, they were singed and charred and really mostly _dying,_ but part of you feels bad and maybe even a little guilty. It ebbs away somewhat, however, when you can see that Loki’s put something so downright _beautiful_ in its place.

There’s a single flower in a glass that looks like it came straight out of Beauty and the Beast. It glimmers in the pale moonlight, and maybe you’re tired, but you swear it looks like it’s pulsing.

You’ve never seen a flower with so many hues and shades, or one that looks like it’s glittering, like this one.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, bending forward to marvel over it up close. Your hand makes to lift the cover, but Loki stops you.

“I’m glad you like it, sweet, but I don’t think you should open that. Not yet, at least.”

“Why?” you immediately ask, head snapping up to meet his eyes.

He gives you a secretive, sly smirk. “I don’t think you’re ready for it yet. Now. Get on the bed, sweet.”

Shooting one last lingering look to the flower, you do as you’re told. Once you lie down, legs splayed open wide, Loki’s gaze settles thoughtfully on your nightstand. “I’m quite sure I left something right here, pet.”

“I think it’s on the couch,” you recall. “Can’t you—”

“No magic tonight, I’m afraid I drained my energy procuring my gift for you, which is why I need you to cum tonight so I can replenish myself.”

Well. If you weren’t wet before, you sure are now.

Loki leaves the room to fetch the silk ties, presumably to restrain you once again, and your blood pumps in excitement. He’s left you alone.

And you know you should listen to Loki, but after today’s events, there’s a huge part of you that just wants to be rebellious.

What did he mean, you’re not ready? It can’t possibly be anything you can’t handle. Your eyes flit back to the glass on the corner table.

It’s just a flower.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you slink off the bed and towards it, eyes trained on your bedroom door just in case he comes back and you get caught.

Do you want to get caught?

Gingerly, you lift the glass, peeking under it just to see what the glittering particles are. A strong, sweet smell instantly invades your nostrils, and you set the glass back down soundlessly.

His footsteps draw closer and you fling yourself onto the bed, spreading your legs like you were earlier and raising your hands above your head like an obedient child.

“Very good,” Loki purrs, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he ties one wrist to the headboard. “Such a good kitten.” His mouth closes over yours, tongues mingling, and you feel the air shift and your head throbs twice.

Wow, what a kiss it must be for it to extract such a reaction from your body.

With your eyes still closed, he wraps the ever-so-familiar silk around your eyes. It’s… did he put some kind of perfume on it?

“Did you put something on the blindfold?” you ask as he double checks the tightness around your other wrist.

“Yes, sweet. What does it smell like?”

You lick your lips, mouth going dry. It’s getting hotter, and your heartbeat’s speeding up. “Something sweet,” you answer. “Like vanilla. And a little bit of cinnamon?”

_“Very good,”_ Loki praises, his hand traveling down your naked body. Your clit throbs and your walls clench. And you… you just want to be filled to the brim with his cum.

“How do I reward you for every correct answer, sweet?”

“Your cock.”

Okay, _that—_ that was not what you were intending to say. Sure, you’re thinking it, but you weren’t planning to blurt it out loud so shamelessly. It’s like your mind and body are out of sync, your urges taking precedence and leading your mind that follows a beat too late.

Loki lets out an entertained, short laugh. “Eager little one today. You will get it. In time.”

He spreads your legs further apart and settles between them. You can feel your slick seeping out of your slit and onto the bed, wetter than ever. Fuck, what’s happening? It’s like you weren’t horny before, but you _were_ —but it pales in comparison to the state you’re in now.

His nose bumps against your soft flesh, and you lift your hips off the bed and promptly rub against his snout.

It’s like you can’t help yourself. Loki has to fight a little to push your hips back onto the mattress, and your lower half falls with a soft thump. You’re breathing heavily and your body—fuck, it feels like it’s on fire. Wherever Loki touches, he leaves fire in its wake. And there’s something in the air—something musky, _masculine_ , smelling like pure sex—

You just know it’s Loki’s arousal.

And _hell_ , does it turn you on. Breaks the scale, if there ever was one. It’s a thick, potent smell that fills your lungs and makes you lightheaded.

He’s tired. Drained of his magic, and he needs _you_ to fill him back up again. And you… you have all this sudden, pent up energy you didn’t know you had…

“Untie me,” you demand. Your voice is husky and your throat is dry, but it doesn’t sink in because you feel like your entire being is just Loki’s arousal and nothing else.

His hand stiffens over your thigh. “Sweet, didn’t we agree—”

_“Untie me,”_ you repeat. You leave no room for discussion. “Even just one hand. You don’t have to do anything.”

There’s a pause where you spread your legs even wider. You lick your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and your cunt.

“Y-you can just watch me.”

You can feel Loki’s exhale fan your wetness, and it makes you shudder in anticipation.

Before he can protest, you continue, “I know you need me to cum so you get your energy. You—you can just take over when I’m about to…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Loki’s untying you with one hand, and then with the gentlest hold around your wrist he guides it downwards. “It appears you’ve disobeyed me. Well, consider it your lucky day that I am in no mood to scold you.” He rests it against your stomach, stroking a finger over the center of it.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs after a while. “While I have the perfect view.”

At his words, you clench. Slowly you bring your fingers to your cunt and trace over your swollen flesh. An echo of Loki’s own ministrations this morning. Only you don’t have as much patience as he does, and so you plunge your finger inside your warmth without any resistance.

Masturbation is not something foreign to you. But the knowledge that Loki’s head is still between your legs, with an unfiltered and clear view to your movements, has your body swimming to orgasm faster than ever. Your fingers fall into a familiar rhythm, dipping into the dependable spots and nerves that have consistently gotten you to orgasm before. Perhaps the eroticism of this exhibition—in front of _Loki,_ no less—ignites an intensity within you that makes it seem like these spots aren’t familiar at all.

His fingers. His lips. His cock. You imagine them all inside you, on your clit, everywhere—it spurs you on, your fingers flying faster, your walls tightening as you race towards orgasm—

Loki gently pulls your hand away, and while you expect to be filled by his instead… there’s nothing. A frustrated huff is expelled from your lungs and Loki only brushes his fingertips against your sides.

“Release? So quickly?” He tuts playfully. “The gift I brought must be more potent than I’d imagined.”

“Please.” It’s a word you’ve been repeating so many times today. At this point, it feels natural spilling from your lips. “Please, I need to cum—you need me to—”

“You will cum when I say so,” he cuts in with a dominant finality that sends tiny sparks along the insides of your legs. “And I say… _not yet.”_

You let out a quiet whimper. You’ve never wanted to cum and hold it off at the same time as much as you do right now. And fuck—Loki’s tying the silk around your ankle and an urgency surges through you. You know what he’s doing. The smell gets even stronger now too, that musky, addictive aroma—you want to bask in it from the source—

You’re vaguely aware of the silk tie slipping away from your wrist and making its way to your other ankle. Loki’s strong hands run a delicate trail along your body and all you want is his cock ramming into you with his hand wrapped around your neck.

“Touch yourself,” he commands as soon as your ankles are tied to each corner of the bedframe. Your hole is gaping wide—it feels that way, since you’re aware of every breath Loki takes and exhales because of his proximity to you. “And do _not_ cum unless I say so.”

Fuck—that’s what scares you. You’re so fucking turned on that you fear even just one stroke, you’d be a goner. But would punishment from Loki because you came _really be_ all that bad? You’re not sure if you want to test him just yet.

And there’s a new smell in the air, mingling with the heady masculinity of Loki’s arousal. It’s a bit fruity, perhaps even reminiscent of the tanginess of an orange.

It’s yours.

“Touch yourself, sweet, or I’m going to have to leave you like this all night.”

Without further encouragement, your fingers dive back into your folds and your body relaxes with a sigh. Your hips gyrate over your hands as you root yourself in the fact that Loki’s watching you. He needs to see just how turned on you are, how _he’s_ the one who does this to you.

“Use both your hands,” he instructs. “Go deeper. And massage your clit slower. _Slower.”_

You do as he tells you, alternating your long strokes with circular motions, and _fuck,_ is it agony. It takes a whole lot of self-control not to buck your hips like a madwoman, so you bite down on your bottom lip. Heat prickles over your entire body and briefly you wonder how long you’re going to go like this and if you’re going to cum from this at all.

“Now focus on your clit,” he says after a while. “Shorter. Faster. Harder. How you want it, kitten, as fast as you can go…”

_Finally,_ you think, fingers speeding up and your orgasm gaining momentum. It doesn’t take long for it to build, begin to crest—

“Hands off.”

_No—not the words you wanted to hear._ Begrudgingly you force away your hands from your swollen sex, slick with your own juice, and wait. You wait for his next instruction, as patient as you can be as a woman chasing orgasm, and then Loki finally says the magic words.

“Go on.”

It continues like this for a while. For how long exactly, you don’t know. Time has blurred and it’s only differentiated by moments of languid strokes and furious pumping, moments of pause that feel like forever, and then back again. He draws you close to orgasm, then away like it’s forbidden fruit, until you’re certain the minute Loki puts even just one finger on you, you’ll come undone.

Your fingers work hard at your cunt, coated in your warm slick, until Loki finally, _finally_ lets you grow taut with the tension of building release. It’s strong, you can feel it. You’re already so sensitive and even if your muscles are growing strained, your need for release is overpowering enough that you don’t mind it in the least.

Loki rips your hand away, shoves his fingers inside you in perfect sync, and you cry out in ecstasy. Your fingers can only do so much, but Loki—he’s pure magic, pure _sex_ that nothing could ever compare or replace him.

His thumb flicks over your clit harshly and your walls clench against his fingers. And the air—oh fuck, it’s the intoxicating smell of his arousal—you just want to rip off his clothes, suck him dry—

In some inexplicable way, Loki manages to leave you teetering on the edge of orgasm. Just between that space of cumming and winding down. So close, yet so far. Your breath comes in shallow pants while your hips rotate to meet him. He has to let you cum, you remind yourself. He _has_ to.

Before you can gasp it out, Loki says, “No.”

Fuck, how many times are you going to hear that today? Your clit is pulsing, your walls fluttering in a sporadic rhythm as you hang in the ripping limbo of trying to hold in your release and let it go at the same time. It drives you mad, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes from the guttural need that needs satiating.

A wave of Loki’s arousal wafts fresh and heated towards you. Your mouth hangs open while his thick arousal hangs in the atmosphere, dizzying and fueling your need to have your fill from the source.

And then without warning, Loki plunges his fingers into you knuckle-deep, moving fast against your clit at the same time while knocking your G-spot over and over until your mouth hangs open, no sound coming out—your back arches off the bed with the overpowering, all-consuming need for release—

“Cum.”

The single syllable he utters has you unwound, undone—little white dots explode before your eyelids while your body convulses with the soul-stealing release he’s bestowed upon you. Toes curling, body tense, you’ve never experienced anything as blissfully shattering as this. Every nerve ending in your system has sizzled out, sensitive to the lightest gust of air.

Loki lets you ride out your orgasm on his fingers that continue to coax out your release. With the blood pumping in your ears, you can vaguely register the sounds Loki’s making. He’s muttering to himself, whispering—and once the pounding recedes from your ears you can make out a few lines.

“Yes, sweet, cum… cum all over my fingers, that’s it, you sweet girl… this perfect cunt, so warm—the way my cock—inside, yes, _more_ …”

You clench tightly, and make a risky decision. One you clearly have no foresight to.

You sit up, and while the quick change in position has your cunt convulsing in stimulation, you ignore it. You’re still horny, yes. It’s as if that buildup to your seismic orgasm wasn’t enough, and while you would love another (or three more), there’s something else you want.

His cock.

Sitting up like this, you can smell his arousal coming from somewhere near the floor. Which, your lustful brain calculates, makes sense because his lower half should be sprawled across the floor.

Some kind of strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, and your hands reach out to fist, well—whatever you can reach. You can’t exactly see.

Your hands actually land in his hair, and your nails dig into his scalp. Loki makes a deep, throaty noise, satisfying you.

“Kiss me.”

Loki doesn’t chastise you or tell you no—instead the mattress creaks with his weight. He pins you down, his tongue delving into your mouth which you welcome instantly. The aroma of his arousal fires you up into a frenzy, especially when you feel his hard length pushes against your swollen clit.

Your hand boldly moves to squeeze his ass, bring him closer to you. Yes, having your arms in a full range of motion is better. Sure, you can’t see or close your legs, but you can touch him. Smell him. Loki bites down on your lip, groaning softly when you tug on his hair and pull him against you by the ass again.

_Touch him._

Your brain is on autopilot. Like it’s got a mission it needs to see through to the end, regardless of whatever obstacles are to come its way. While Loki’s taking this opportunity to moan against your neck, telling you how he would just love to fuck you right here, right now, your hand moves from his ass, down the side of his hip, and to the front of his pants.

Loki freezes.

Whether it’s good or bad, you don’t care. You take this opportunity to palm the bulge you’ve felt, a soundless sigh escaping your lips. Your fingers grip around the outline, from what you think is base to tip, and a trickle of your juices flows out of you when you feel him shudder.

It’s all the encouragement you need. You slide your hand over the hard bulge once before your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your breathing shallows when the tip of your finger comes in contact with a bead of wetness.

The strong, potent smell of Loki envelops you, and while it feels like you’re already bathing in him and his essence it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You want more.

Loki hovers above you while you slip his pants down, his breath warming your neck. Licking your lips in anticipation, you finally lay your hands on the prize you’ve been dreaming and drooling about.

Your fingers wrap around his shaft, and as crazy as you sound, you might actually cum from just holding it.

Blood beats searing hot in your veins, your arousals mingling and fueling the other’s. You pump his shaft, once, twice—and you’re distantly aware that you’re speaking now.

“Need to,” you breathe, “t-to smell it. Up close, just—oh Loki, please, I need your cock on my face, just let me—”

Somehow this state you’re in has Loki speechless. You’re begging, though assertive at the same time. Loki lets you lead him until you’re lying down on your back, and he straddles your face, his thick cock hovering just inches from you.

Oh, _fucking hell._

Your fingers skim the column of his shaft, savoring the feel of his hard length. You can’t see it yet, but you’d like to imagine how it looks before you do. Your fingers bump against the ridge around the head; veins that traverse his cock bounce against your touch; you trace a finger down the slit of him, collecting precum and trailing it over his frenulum.

Loki bucks his hips against your hands, hissing.

“What are you _doing,_ pet?”

Tentatively, you bring your nose to the base of him and inhale deeply. Your cunt flutters in response and your mind deigns to feed you an image of his cock inside you, stretching you—maybe even wrecking your throat.

A wanton thrill shoots through you, and you drag your closed lips along his cock and then part your lips, salivating as you draw closer to him—

“No.” Loki pulls your hair gently, stopping you. Only it’s almost… reluctant. Like it’s more for himself than for you. Breathing hard, he continues, “Not tonight. Touching, just touching is… is enough.”

You settle for dragging your nose along the underside of his cock, inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of victory. “Alright.”

And then somehow you’re talking again. “I just love your cock,” you whisper mindlessly. “So thick… hard… I just want you, Loki. You can put your cock in my mouth… my pussy needs you a little more though…”

His cock twitches at your statement, and you hum against his groin, smile blooming on your lips. You pull your head away and your hand closes around him. You begin stroking, fisting his cock and twisting your wrist as you get closer to the head and loosening your grip when you get to the base. Soon he’s rutting his hips into your hand, and you relish the way you can feel him tense. All because of your touch. There’s a surge of pride at this new dynamic unlocked.

And his _cock_ —it’s even better than you imagined. You tell him how you love his cock, you’d have it anywhere, anytime, whenever he wants—and Loki’s hips grow more frantic in his movements. You cup his balls, fondling him, and Loki fists your hair roughly, rasping out, “Hold still. But keep going on my cock. Faster. _Harder._ ”

You and Loki work together to reach his orgasm, and soon you can feel his balls slapping against your hands and his movements go stunted, his cock tightening—the incoming smell makes you even dizzier, and you angle your head upward—

White hot ropes of cum splatter onto your face. Your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. Some of it dribbles down onto your chest and you have to fight yourself not to scoop some up and shove it into your cunt.

Loki groans all while he cums, until he’s running his fingers through your hair and tells you absently, “Sweet, glorious woman. An absolute _sex kitten._ ”

His fingers swipe at his cum on your face, and then you realize it isn’t arbitrary—he’s pooling it together for you to _eat it_. Eagerly you open your mouth, sucking on his finger coated with his cum. Once your face is mostly clean, your tongue darts out the corner of your mouth to collect a drop you missed. No cum should go to waste.

Your heart practically leaps into your throat when you feel his tongue flatten against your sternum, collecting cum that’s dripped down your chest in a straight line going up to your face, and then he kisses you

His taste mingles with his seed, and you relish how delicious he is. You sigh into his mouth and are about to wrap your legs around his waist, only you’re brutally reminded that your legs are tied up.

You hope you wake up like this.

Your hands go to his still-hard cock, and Loki’s surprised, “Already?” has you giggling as you start pumping him again.

When is the next time you’re going to have all this energy after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and kudos are always appreciated <3  
> Connect with me on tumblr! www.bellesque.tumblr.com


	6. Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, mostly because I'll be busy very soon and didn't want to keep you guys hanging for longer than necessary. Hehe.  
> Enjoy nonetheless!

**THAT WAS GOOD.**

In all your time spent in the kitchen trying to perfect your cookie dough, this one comes pretty close. The dark chocolate chunks are decadent and rich, the base itself isn’t too sweet or salty… based on a preliminary taste test (one you know you shouldn’t do), this batch will be baked to a chewy perfection tomorrow.

You wouldn’t normally make cookies just for the hell of it. But you’ve been antsy, on edge, sighing from time to time even if you don’t mean to.

You just want to keep busy so your mind doesn’t stray back to Loki.

Everything you’ve experienced so far has been… extraordinary. There are no words in the English dictionary that can adequately describe the complete eroticism of what happens every night.

Logically, tonight can go one of two ways: taste or sight. Your money’s on taste.

And then oh, tomorrow night, if it really is sight—your pussy clenches—tomorrow night you will see him. See his muscles tense when he pounds into you, the sweat that glistens on his neck. You’ll see his eyes dark as charcoals, burning with lust and desire, his hair falling in a curtain around his face. You’ll see his lips part as he cums inside you, teeth bared, watch as his Adam’s apple bobs while he grunts out his release.

Still, while the anticipation is nearly overpowering, there is a budding dread that creeps around the edges.

He fucks you, and then… then…

Then what?

It’s strange, definitely not something you should be feeling, but you can’t imagine life after Loki. Nights of dreamless sleep. Sex with other men.

Fuck, they probably won’t hold a candle to him. His prowess has officially ruined all men for you. His seductive words, teasing touches, raw expressions of his arousal, they’re all so uniquely _him_. You’re never going to get another Loki in bed.

The sex is good. The sex is _great._ You aren’t ready to give it up just yet.

There’s a small part of you that wishes you don’t have to.

The batter goes in the fridge, your plan to bake it tomorrow after it develops some more flavor overnight. But once it sits in the corner beside your prepared lunch tomorrow, your thoughts wander back to Loki.

Baking was a good distraction—for a few hours, that is. You’re back to square one.

Television it is.

You don’t really plan on falling asleep in front of the TV again, but then again, no one does. You’re curled up on the couch when you hear a door opening quietly, so as not to wake you.

But you do.

You sit up and squint past the harsh glare of your television. You can make out just the outline of Loki in your kitchen, peering into your refrigerator.

Wait, what?

“Loki?”

“Yes, sweet?”

You’re stunned. Another image of domesticity that is completely jarring to you. Seeing Loki somewhere that _isn’t_ a bedroom.

“What are you doing?” you ask cautiously, sitting up.

Loki straightens his back, your bowl of batter in his arms. “What is this?”

“Cookie dough.”

He steps into the light, his head cocked curiously to the side. “What for?”

You yawn, stretching your arms overhead. Strange. Strange to see him in his expensive-looking suit holding your giant plastic bowl of cookie dough. “Just felt like making some cookies.”

He takes off the lid, examining its contents. He stares at it, a rather perplexed expression donning his beautiful face, and you crack a smile.

“Do you want to taste it?” you ask, sitting up.

“I don’t need this kind of sustenance, sweet. You know what I need.” A look of lust flashes through his eyes.

Your own body reacts in a similar fashion, but you ignore it in favor of having a moment with Loki that isn’t just sex.

You don’t know where this need came from, but you don’t stop yourself.

You take the bowl away from him, scooping up a little on your finger, and hold it out to him. “Taste it,” you whisper, your voice a tad more sultry than you intend upon seeing his intent expression.

Loki keeps his eyes on you, as dark as the night, and closes his fingers around your finger. His tongue darts out to swipe at pad of it, and he swallows the dough.

You chuckle shakily, your heart beating quicker and your arousal beginning to bubble. But you squash it, for now. Sex with Loki is always on the table. Soft moments like this, not so much.

“How is it? Good?”

He doesn’t answer, his lips still closed over your index—and he sucks and licks at it to a point that it makes your knees weak.

Well. That… that’s highly erotic.

“Delicious,” he comments idly.

Something in the way he says it makes your mind wander and think he means something else.

_No! Not yet! Sex later, romance now!_

But you’re a simple woman who gets sidetracked pretty easily.

You flutter your lashes at him. “Is it?”

“Would you like a taste?”

Damn him and damn your stupid brain. Turning everything he says into a double-edged innuendo, working in tandem to get your clothes off whether they realize it or not.

Before you can answer, Loki’s index swirls around the edge of your dough and he brings it to your lips. Tentatively, your tongue swipes at the morsel. Pretty good. Not too sweet, with a great balance of rich chocolate.

Loki slides his finger deeper into your mouth. Your eyes snap up to his.

The bowl disappears with a silent wave of his hand, and your heart hammers wildly. You can’t say you didn’t expect this. For things to turn this way even if you tried to steer it in a somewhat different direction. Still—anticipation rockets through you as Loki tilts his head to the side.

His finger scrapes the flat of your tongue. “Suck,” he orders quietly.

You pull his finger deeper with a drawn out suction of your lips, and Loki exhales through his teeth.

It’s hard not to imagine that you’re sucking on something else.

He’s staring at your mouth with such great intensity, you have to wonder if he looks at you like this every night: with an urgent, carnal need in his eyes, with labored breathing and tense shoulders. You swirl your tongue around the tip of his finger, spurred on by the increasingly maddening look in his eye.

You make sure to let him know you imagine it’s his cock.

Loki pulls his finger away and roughly pins you down for a searing hot kiss. His body, somehow you haven’t noticed before—it radiates heat where he encases you in his arms.

“She-devil,” he whispers into your mouth before capturing your lips in his teeth again. The bittersweetness of the chocolate lingers between you, and you allow Loki to suck on your tongue in a primal need for possession.

His cock strains against his pants, bouncing against your inner thigh, and you swear you can feel blood rushing down to the aching point between your legs. Loki nestles you deeper into the couch, his deft fingers sliding down your top to expose your collarbone—

He pulls away.

You blink. “Loki, I—”

He silences you with a kiss.

“You make me want to forego all the plans I have for you,” he mutters, stroking your hair.  
“It cannot be. I mustn’t.” He sighs against your shoulder and then levels his face with yours. “Come. I need to taste you.”

Fresh heat consumes your body as Loki hoists you up and carries you into the bedroom. You’re so slick already, your breathing shallow—and your thoughts, the dirty places they go—

Loki places you down with surprising gentleness, his thumbs circling your wrists as silk wraps around them, tugging and tying you to the headboard. By his magic, no doubt. A second later you’re shrouded in darkness.

His lean form settles on top, just enough to leave you wanting. He hovers above you, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from yours—and then the tip of his tongue peeks out to trace the outline of your bottom lip. It’s dizzying almost, making you reach up blindly for him when he pulls away.

“Loki,” you whine softly, impatience lacing your tone.

There’s a soft laugh by your ear. He kisses you this time, fully, moving his lips and tongue against yours in a slow, sensual pace. He licks into your mouth, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw. Seconds tick past and his kisses grow more fervent, more biting; more teeth, more taking. He growls when you whimper, swallowing every sound, and kisses you more thoroughly.

Maybe kisses isn’t even the right word for it anymore. Loki fucking _takes_ you with his mouth, all ravaging and claiming and possessing. You’re completely dizzy when he pulls away, breathing shallow, lips feeling swollen and tingling with the phantom touch of his.

“So very pretty like that.” He caresses his thumb over the center of your bottom lip, dragging it ever so slightly downward. “The prettiest mouth.”

You mean to playfully bite his finger, but you’re a split second too late. His hands rove over your now-bare chest in hypnotizing patterns. “Not yet.” You can hear the grin in his voice. “I intend to take my time tonight.”

“Don’t you always?” you quip.

Loki freezes.

“Mouthy today, are we?” he muses, his fingers tracing up to your neck and pulling down your bottom lip once more. Admiring you. “I must say, I’m not quite in the mood for that tonight.” His fingers dip into your mouth briefly, just enough for you to process that it’s there.

When he withdraws, a silk gag takes its place.

Your throat closes and you swallow, hot arousal pooling thick and fast in your belly. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Scream all you want, sweet,” he says, settling on top of you once again, his velvety voice stroking invisible parts of you. “I want to hear all the sounds you can make with that on.”

You let out a muffled groan.

Loki bites your earlobe with a satisfied smirk. “Yes. Exactly. Good girl.”

You breathe hard through your nose as more silk ties around your ankles, spreading you apart and leaving you completely bare—and at his mercy.

You’re half-tempted to pretend to struggle.

“Be good,” Loki says, his hands roaming your body. “Find the pleasure in your restraint. In your complete submission to me.”

He trails open-mouthed kisses over your neck and jaw, his hands stroking up and down your sides. Ah, _shit_. You can’t do a thing but receive whatever he has to give you.

And you love it.

His mouth leaves fire on your skin, and you can tell that he’s restraining himself to some degree as well. Sometimes his tongue darts out to swipe against your skin, making you want _more_ , and then he stops.

Your head feels like it’s made of cotton. Loki’s breath fans across your breasts, perking up your nipples with every exhale. Even. Only slightly labored still.

You wait.

Your mind is a little frayed that it takes you longer to recognize Loki’s circling your waist with his fingers. And then once you focus on that, your breathing hitches and Loki licks your hardened bud.

Oh, fucking hell, you need more than just that. _Loki,_ you try to say; but the gag keeps you silenced.

“Such beautiful, receptive nipples,” he comments. He kisses the valley between your breasts, and then licks your other mound. “Standing at attention from the tiniest of touches.” The pad of his finger swipes over one nipple while he moves to the opposite breast. Your teeth clamp on the tie.

Loki places his tongue flat on your bud, and then slowly, _excruciatingly so_ , swirls your nipple in his mouth.

It shouldn’t be as hot, as unbelievably soul-consuming as it is. Yet you sigh in sweet relief, in delicious torture. Only when his lips close completely around you do you let out a strangled noise.

He pulls off you with an obscene sucking sound. “A new one,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “I like that one. Let’s make you do it again.” He does the same to your other nipple, and while you try to hold it in you, it rips from your throat without much coaxing.

“Good,” he purrs.

His mouth flicks against your peaked buds, each stimulation sending little shockwaves down to your core. Your hips move sideways of their own accord, your folds sliding against each other. Your back arches when he sucks and licks and bites, your body tensing as you writhe—

Loki pushes your hips down firmly onto the mattress. “Stay,” he orders.

He licks a stripe down between your breasts, licks the undersides of them, and he trails down, _down,_ pecking your navel before his tongue darts out yet again to trace a line from one side of your waist to the other. You suck in a breath, wanting him to go even _lower_. You clench.

You’re not sure what Loki’s waiting for. What he’s planning to do, if he does have one. All you can feel are his hands holding you down and the silk on your extremities.

And then, once he lulls you into some false sense of security… Loki kisses the bend of your knee. Just in that spot before it dips into the curve of your calf, a little further down from your patella.

He sighs rather audibly, almost dramatic in its length. Wanting. Anticipating. You hear it in that wordless noise. “You should see yourself, sweet,” he murmurs, hands now dragging down your hips. “The most delightful shade of pink coloring your perfect cunt. A meal I am most excited to partake in.”

His hands find their stop on your knees, bending them to spread your lips even farther apart. Your brain starts to go static, and you try in vain to provide any type of moisture in your mouth.

Who knew being helpless would be something you’d be into. Not like you’d try it with anyone else, but having zero control over your body, trusting Loki to torture you in the sweetest way, sends the most delicious shudder to scale down every part of your body.

It turns into little electric shocks when his lips brush against your thighs. Softly at first; almost testing, the barest of brushes against you. He peppers arbitrary kisses, trailing up and down, each passing moment making you wetter… all the while ignoring the part of you that craves his attention the most.

Fucking maddening, is what it is. It nearly drives you to the edge, your walls clenching and your core tightening every time he gets even close to your mound. He takes his sweet time, just as he said. Loki’s patient, and cunning. You know him well enough in the bedroom that he only does things he wants to—it just so happens that teasing you to the point of sexual insanity is one of them.

You make an ungodly noise when Loki finally stations himself at the apex of your legs.

“You smell divine.” His mouth moves against your lips, its vibrations detonating a ticking time bomb to your release. “So… intoxicating.”

He kisses a line from your clit, then down your folds—fuck, they slicken with every, _single, touch._ Your body buzzes, blood pumping hot in your veins, hyperfocused on every time his lips meet your flesh.

He goes down, up again—down, up, up, _up_ —and his mouth pauses right where the hood of your clit is.

It’s an earth-shattering second when his tongue dives into your folds and straight onto the hardened bundle of nerves, setting off a chain reaction. You arch off the bed, convulsing at the sheer suddenness of it; your walls clench as if to draw him nearer, tighter to you; and a strangled gasp breaks from the confines of the gag.

All you can focus on is the firm, purposeful strokes of his tongue on you. He glides between your folds with ease, his mouth closing around your clit so he gives it a good, _loud_ suck.

You moan again.

Loki laps at you, sucking and nibbling and kissing, obscene slurping noises occasionally joining your very heavy breathing. Your knees are trembling, you kind of want to close them—but your body is splayed out for him.

Fuck, so this is how it is. Being used like a toy for his sexual enjoyment.

He toys with your clit a few moments longer before his tongue slides down your drenched slit, and then inside.

You try to grind down on him.

If there’s one thing you never considered, it’s the possibility of you actually fainting from too much stimulation. Not like it’s a bad way to knock out—but it would mean missing every moment feeling his glorious mouth do wicked things to you. And you’re pretty lightheaded as it is, your tongue straining against the gag as you make another guttural, inhuman noise.

He kisses each of your lips, giving them equal attention from his ministrations, while his tongue moves slick and slippery across your walls. Exploring, tasting. Groaning into the furnace of your pussy.

Fuck, it’s so hot. Your pussy. His mouth. Everything. You feel like your body is on fucking _fire,_ the flames of ecstasy being stoked as it consumes you, bringing you higher and higher, closer to release—

Your body is wound tight, all of your muscles flexing. So drastically different from the lazy exploration of Loki’s mouth inside you, slow and relaxed and yet so fucking _arousing_ in itself. He said he’d take his time. It’s exactly what he does.

But then your release surges without warning, coming up high and fast when Loki drags the flat of his tongue out of you and over your labia to suck at your clit once more—this time with ferocious intensity. The jarring change of pace is enough to tip you over the edge, your orgasm taking you hot and fast through the throes of pleasure, wrangled, strained moans the dirty accompaniment to your release.

“Such a wonderful body,” he whispers against your mound while it flutters post-release. You feel like you’re floating. You’ve been so focused on flexing your lower muscles that once you relax it’s as if all the energy spreads back to your limbs. Your fingers and toes tingle with tiny pins and needles. Good. You feel good.

The solid muscle of his thighs encase you on either side of your hips, his strong and unyielding cock pressing heavy against your soft flesh. He’s clothed, though. You wish he wasn’t. He grinds on you, and somehow taking you back to the first night you met him.

Your juices coat the front of his pants as he rocks against you, alternating between tight, controlled circles and languid, rocking strokes.

“Are you enjoying yourself, pet?” he questions lightly, knowing full well you can’t answer. “Knowing I could go down on your exquisite sex for hours? Or that I could just leave you here wanting, waiting for more?”

All you can manage is another animalistic noise.

He chuckles, his cock hardening further as he grinds you down into the bed. “Do you enjoy the gag, kitten? Do you enjoy being choked?” Loki almost groans, but he catches himself just before his throat can open up for the sound. “Would you like to choke on something else?”

You stop breathing.

Loki’s hips slow to a stop as well, gauging your silent reaction, which is… turned on. And horny. Fuck, does he possibly mean—

Something bounces on your bare stomach. Something blunt. Heavy.

Hard.

It trails small beads of precum over your torso as Loki crawls towards your head, inching closer with every shift of his knee against the bed until his blunt tip bobs against your chin. So close. So far. You tilt your head upwards, the silk acting as a sheath when it comes into contact with his rock hard flesh. Fuck, you wish it weren’t there. He’s _so close_ , you can smell it—it’s not as strong as it was last night, with the weird flower sex pollen thing in your system, but his arousal is thickly intoxicating nonetheless. Masculine, pure sex. Oozing out of him with every clear bead of precum that leaks from his slit.

“Would you like a taste?” he asks lowly, finger tracing over your parted lips. “Like to choke on this cock?”

Wildfire erupts in your belly.

Loki is a patient thing. He hasn’t fucked your pussy yet, despite how many nights you’ve spent together. He draws out everything with you—the teasing, the foreplay, touches, the orgasms. So when he rips the gag from your mouth and shoves his cock into your mouth, it partially blindsides you.

 _Fuck, he’s so big._ He’s thick and hard and _heavy_ and you need a few seconds to gain your bearings and actually start pleasuring him. Your cheeks hollow as you suck on the head of his cock, tongue fluttering against the underside of his shaft and tracing along his frenulum.

Loki groans, a long sound coming up deep from his throat, and he grabs a fistful of your hair to angle your head better. Better for him to fuck himself into your mouth. He slides himself deeper, and your jaw tries to accommodate the rest of his length.

“Deeper,” he rasps. “I know you have it in you, you dirty little cockslut.”

His filthy encouragement is all you need to slacken your jaw further and take more of him into your mouth.

Soon Loki doesn’t find it quite enough to just… let you do all the work. So he begins thrusting; slow and gentle, like he’s preparing you for the brutal face fucking you will inevitably endure later tonight.

You try to memorize the feel of him in your mouth. Every ridge, every vein, every little part of Loki’s manhood that makes him so utterly dizzying. You could get high off this, you think. On his smell, on his taste.

 _Mine,_ you find yourself thinking at some point when Loki pulls out of you and your lips rub against his slit and collecting more precum, _Mine._

And then—he slams into your mouth. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat pretty hard, you’re surprised you’re still mostly okay. He slides in and out of you forcefully, the sounds you’re making a garbled mess—fuck, you can feel his cock tightening, hardening—you’re ready for his release—

Yet again, he pulls out of you.

Your mind is slow. It’s unbelievably aroused, entirely sex-driven, and slow. A few beats pass where all there is includes your loud sighs and the pounding of your heart.

“Lo-Loki?” Your voice comes out shaky, cracking slightly from the lack of use. “Whe—what—um—”

“What’s that smell?”

Your brows furrow. Smell? Was something burning? Kitchen on fire? “I—I don’t think—”

“Right now. Smell it. What is it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything—”

Loki grunts, gravelly and spreading over your body like some weird hypnotic spell. There is nothing. No weird smell, no pleasant one—just the smell of your sex, if that counts for anything.

“Wrong,” he grits out. Another grunt. “Open your fucking mouth, sweet.”

And just as you do, his cum splatters over your face—into your mouth and dribbling over your chin. It’s warm and thick and fucking _hot_ , and you swallow as much as he can give, tongue swiping at your lips and gasping like a woman starved.

You lick your lips when it’s over, and Loki swipes his finger around you, feeding you the rest of his cum from his finger. Loki exhales while you suck eagerly, relishing the taste of him and how you crave more when it slides down your throat.

That was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are always appreciated! <3  
> Connect with me on tumblr: www.bellesque.tumblr.com


	7. Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're almost done. Thanks for being with me on this (filthy) journey, loves.  
> Enjoy!

**“HEY. SEX EYES.”**

Your attention snaps up immediately. “Hm?”

She gives you a look. Shit. Busted. You plaster on a look of feigned obliviousness.

Isla sips her margarita, eyebrows lifted, and then takes extra interest in setting it down. Guilt gnaws at you. Did you pay attention to anything she just said? No. Are you going to let her know? Not if you can get away with it.

You don’t, though. Barely anything slips past Isla, from information to a change in energy. The prolonged pause makes you nervous, but you do your best not to show it.

“Sex eyes,” she says simply, examining her nails. Her gray irises flit to you, and she cocks her head to the side. “You’ve got the sex eyes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’re thinking about a good lay. Or getting laid. You literally just zoned out because you were thinking about sex!”

“Isla!” you shush her quickly, before the elderly couple a few tables down has a chance to throw you a dirty look. Your cheeks burn, and Isla’s eyes widen as she realizes she wasn’t off the mark.

“Oh my gosh. Wait, I was like, half-kidding.” Her face splits into a grin and she slaps your leg under the table. “I knew it!” she hisses.

_“Isla!”_

“So who is he?”

It’s a little amusing to see her cool, calculated façade crumble as soon as she discovers you’ve been seeing someone—well, you’re using the term loosely here. But. Still.

She doesn’t even let you speak before she barrels on. “He’s gotta be like. A total hunk since you turned down Jake for him, right? Right? Holy shit, woman, tell me!”

Tell her what, exactly? That you’re “seeing” someone who only comes at midnight, specifically when you’re asleep?

“It… he’s a… secret,” you mumble.

“Secret?” Isla lets out an exaggerated gasp. “No way. Nuh uh. No secrets between us.”

“He’s a little… bashful,” you try, shrugging your shoulders. Is it hot out here? You specifically picked a table with good shade, but you’re heating up. You grab your drink in the hopes of cooling off a bit.

“Doesn’t mean _you_ have to be,” she pouts childishly, crossing her arms as she leans back against the wicker lawn chair. “Fine.”

A pause.

“Is the sex good?”

“Isla!”

“What? Can’t blame me for trying. For all I know you’re a kinky bitch under all that office wear.” She wags her eyebrows at you suggestively. You roll your eyes in response. Another sip. Another hope that she won’t notice that she, once again, has hit the nail right on the head.

“He _is_ real, right? You’re not just messing with me?”

“Of course,” you reply instantly, a thin wall of defensiveness going up. “What makes you think he isn’t?”

“You’re literally telling me nothing.”

“I don’t _have_ to tell you anything.”

“Yeah, but _I_ tell you everything!”

“Even the things I don’t want to know,” you mutter. Isla pouts again.

“Fine. It’s fine. My best friend knows that she can tell me _when she feels ready_. And I, as her best friend, will be just as welcoming and accepting _as I always am_. Unless of course. He’s a troll or something. Then we can hide his body together. But _one day_ , my _best friend_ will tell me. Every little kinky, pornstar-worthy detail.” She wrinkles her nose in afterthought. “Ew. Okay maybe _not_ every kinky, porny detail. But you get it!”

You manage a weak beam, but your lunch date with Isla goes on with a rock in the pit of your stomach. It’s only on your way back to work that you acknowledge and confront the feelings you’ve been suppressing for the longest time. Not the ones that surfaced because of Isla’s prying—but the ones that have been swimming just beneath the surface, opening up into a vortex of heavy thoughts.

It’s like you’ve grown… attached. There’s an emotion somewhere, one whose name comes closest to yearning, and it’s tearing you apart. On the one hand: he’s an _incubus_. He’s somewhere between fact and fiction, and obviously having the hots for a some _thing_ rather than a some _one_ proves to have its issues… but what if?

What if he _were_ real, more than just a sex demon? More _human_ , more capable of emotions other than lust and desire?

Damn. Get it together. No need to get all soft. It’s just sex.

(But it lingers: what if it could be more than that?)

The silk ties are gone.

The corner where they usually sit is bare. You don’t consider yourself an overly observant person by any means, but you’ve gotten so used to seeing the smooth shine out of the corner of your eye that it feels just the slightest bit off when it’s not calling out to your subconscious.

Where… where did they go?

A sharp shiver runs down your shoulders when you realize it could be because you won’t be needing them tonight. You’ll be seeing him.

How is he going to go about it? Surely as teasing and drawn out as he always is, but where would he even begin? Would he ask you to undress for him, peel off each garment layer by layer? Would _he_ be the one to do so?

Tonight feels like such an occasion that part of you wants to prepare somehow. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten excited to get ready for something.

Ah, fuck, if you’re too excited again, does that mean you’re not going to sleep?

It’s whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

Along with the possible emotional repercussions you dread will arise.

* * *

Surprisingly, you’re out like a light. The lightest shifting of your duvet is what wakes you.

“Just as I suspected.” Loki’s silky voice is right by your ear. “You really are a vixen, sleeping naked like this.”

Your eyelids flutter open to see Loki kneeling over you, a seductive smirk on his face. His green eyes rake over your figure hungrily, flitting from the duvet that covers your lower half to the halo of hair around your head. He trails his fingers along the curve of your jaw. “What were you planning to do, pet?” he murmurs. “Seduce me into your bed before I’d had my fun?”

You give him a sleepy smile, sleep-hooded eyes fixated on his mouth. “ _I’m_ the fun,” you counter boldly, slowly pushing your bare breasts towards him.

“That you are.” He trails his hand down to your breast now, giving it a gentle squeeze and a tug. “But. It’s so much fun to play with you, sweet.”

Your breathing shallows, eyelids dipping to where his fingertip lingers on your peaked nipple. It’s so easy. So natural for you to slip into this hypnotized, seduced state, willing and wanting for lack of a better description.

His touch ghosts back up over your neck, skimming lightly over your jaw as he leans towards you. “Are you ready?” he asks, his head tipping to one side. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his nose against the hollow of your cheekbone. “At long last.”

You crane your neck to the side, back arching, rising up to feel the length of his body closer to you. You will have him skin-to-skin tonight, eyes open through _all_ of it, and a fiery bolt of excitement floods your core.

His silk suit has never felt more irksome than it does now. A barrier between you that you wish you could just rip away and have him then and there. He’s made you wait long enough, damn it. You need his cock, _now_.

But Loki loves to leave you in that state of anticipation, it seems. His fingers dip beneath the duvet and trail all over your naked flesh, purposefully avoiding your sopping cunt, but stimulating you just enough to make your chest rise and fall faster.

And _fuck,_ if his expression isn’t intoxicating as it is. The way he studies you so intently—the darkness in his eyes, the way his tongue darts out when he sees how hard your nipples are. He’s barely even begun, and he’s already ruining you.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” he says lowly, darkened eyes flicking up to meet your own. “May I?”

Your answer is an urgent pressing of your mouth against his, warm and desperate and _longing_.

And Loki doesn’t kiss you—whatever he’s doing now, calling it mere kissing would be a disservice. It’s dizzying, consuming, possessive, every bite on your lip and suck on your tongue. There’s no way you can hold it in when you moan into his mouth.

Loki pulls away, his grip tightening around the base of your neck—fuck, when did his hand end up there?—and breathlessly he mutters into you, “Do that again. Moan for me.”

His mouth captures yours in another earth-stopping kiss, and you oblige him.

And he moans too.

By the time he pulls away, finishing with open-mouthed pecks and his tongue swiping against your mouth, you’re positive your lips are swollen and flushed the deepest shade of red. The look in his eyes tells you plainly tonight has just begun.

You reach out for him, eager for another kiss, maybe two—

The bloody fucker has restrained you. Both hands, tied to the headboard.

You say his name in what is supposed to be mild confusion, but it comes out more breathy and wanton. _Damn him._

“I want you to watch me.”

Oh, _fuck._

Loki gets off the bed, transfixed on your naked form all the while, and… and, well, begins stripping.

“Watch me,” Loki says sharply when he sees your eyes nearly roll back when you shudder.

And so you do. Maybe it’s because your breasts rise and fall in your periphery while you’re fucking tied up—which is somehow super fucking erotic—or because he’s watching you watch him with such a burning intensity, but even without showing an inch of skin, Loki has you, a whimpering mess, in the palm of his hand.

And then finally—fucking _finally_ —you see him in all his bare glory.

Your jaw drops when you see his cock: swollen with blood, erect and leaking copious amounts of precum it’s obscene.

“I want you… to watch…”

His fingers clasp around his shaft, stroking himself in long, languid pumps. Your mouth waters, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Wet. It’s what you are, it’s what Loki’s dick is. Somehow you don’t know where to look—into his eyes that seem to _fuck_ you, or at his mouth that’s slowly parting and moving soundlessly from his restrained groans, or at his flushed and leaking cock that hangs heavy in his hand. You squirm, your cunt fluttering in need.

Your attention eventually focuses on his ministrations, the mesmerizing way he touches and strokes himself. Loki drags his hand over his shaft at an _excruciatingly_ slow pace and keeps it up for a good while before he starts speeding up, his quiet breaths growing more labored and his abdomen visibly tensing as he ruts more firmly into his fist.

“Fuck,” you say softly, your core muscles rhythmically clenching now as you imagine it’s your cunt. Have you been clenching all the while Loki pleasures himself in front of you—for you?

“I would love to,” he husks. Loki advances, radiating pure sex.

And then he cums—hard. Spurt after spurt of white rope splattering warmth over your bare stomach, and it’s only when he rubs over the head of his cock do you realize your breathing through an open mouth.

“Did you want it in your mouth, sweet?” Loki smirks, caressing your cum-smattered stomach, drawing a line between the valley of your breasts. He holds out his finger in front of you, and suddenly it’s like his cum and your mouth are the only thing in existence. “Do you want it?”

Words don’t come easily to you; instead you battle the restraints, uncaring of the wanton way your tongue stretches out of your mouth, desperate to taste him. Loki pulls his finger away for you to huff in need, until he’s decided he’s had enough torturing you and shoves his thumb into your mouth.

You suck on it greedily, tongue swirling around him, keeping your eyes locked on his. Eye contact. You want him to want you. You want him to see how much _you_ want _him._

Almost reluctantly, his finger leaves the warmth of your mouth, dragging your lower lip down subtly before he brings the pad of his thumb back over his slit. Loki hisses, eyes snapping shut as he thumbs his hard cockhead.

_Fuck._

“I cannot wait,” he says hoarsely, fingers rubbing his head, “I must have you now.”

The anticipation within you is almost like an out of body experience. Your limbs move of their own accord as soon as they’re let out of their restraints, and _fuck_ when your bare bodies touch, it’s fucking _fire._ Your blood is fire, your skin is fire.

And the best part is, _you can see him_. Through the haze of your eyelashes as you kiss his mouth fiercely, it’s evident he’s enjoying this just as much—if not more—as you are. Eyes shut, cock hard, hands _needy_. So fucking needy.

Loki starts necking you, bringing you flush against his (completely and deliciously _naked_ ) skin with a hand kneading your ass. And there it is, that stimulation—the way he palms the flesh and smacks it to deliver the most sensual and near illicit shockwaves to your clit.

You’re panting pretty heavily now, hands fisted tight in Loki’s dark waves. The moment you tug on it unconsciously is when he seems to break from whatever spell he’s under. He kisses the bruise that’s now forming on your neck, thumbing your nipples as he smolders up at you.

“Turn around,” he rasps, and the breathiness in his voice makes you a little proud.

Being on your knees, it doesn’t take very long for you to do a 180. At least, it shouldn’t. But the sex-crazed part of you puts on a show for him: a subtle jut of your ass, an arch of your back to let your breasts bounce enticingly for him. And it works, sort of—the corner of Loki’s mouth lifts up in a challenged smirk and he pulls your hips, your back colliding with his chest.

“Look at you,” he says, nose brushing the helix of your ear. “At us.”

At first, you aren’t sure what he means… until you see the mirror on the side of the room, reflecting your flushed and naked body pulled against his. It stretches from the ceiling all the way to the floor, displaying in crystal clear quality, you and Loki entwined in a tangle of sweat-sheened limbs.

Loki straddles you from behind, his head angled intently towards you as he strokes the sides of your breasts. “Open those legs, sweet, and eyes on that delicious cunt.”

You spread your knees wider, half-kneeling, half-saddled against Loki’s lap, inching apart until the flushed rosy pink of your cunt peeks between your legs. Instead of embarrassment flooding you as you thought it would, you’re simply turned on.

“Would you like to touch yourself?” Loki nips at your neck in the reflection, eyes shut as his lips brush against you, barely pulling away when he speaks. His voice is nothing more than a deep resonance in your chest. “Or shall I?”

“Please,” you whisper, entranced at the vision of Loki sucking another bruise into your neck, that sweet spot that makes your legs turn to jelly.

His hands begin to toy with your breasts, and you shudder, folding into his touch. “Please what?”

“Touch me.”

Loki says nothing. At this point, you just want to cum. From his cock or his fingers, right now it doesn’t matter—all you crave is release that comes from his doing. After being blindfolded for so long, you finally get the chance to memorize this moment, imprint it into your consciousness forever.

His hands roll and tease your nipples until you let out an impatient whine, to which Loki punishes (or rewards?) you with a sharp squeeze at your breast. And then his palm slides down, down, centimeter by centimeter, your knees fruitlessly trying to get even further apart.

You’re on the verge of babbling sexual pleas, you’re sure of it. Close to begging for his fingers, his touch; his tongue, his cock. Loki chuckles—shit, did you say all that out loud?

Without so much as a warning, Loki slips a finger inside you. Entirely finesse, like it’s the most natural response to babble in the world. Like it’s the only way to shut you up—which, probably, if your moan is any indication, it is.

It becomes increasingly difficult for you to keep your eyes open; they insist on rolling back whenever his fingers brush against your clit. But it’s so hot, so _fucking hot_ , to be riding—when did your hips start moving?—his fingers, watching how they disappear into your cunt with a soft squelch.

And then his fingers curl into your G-spot, and you convulse involuntarily.

“Stay,” Loki orders roughly, mouth closing around the index finger of his free hand. He stimulates your clit further with the heel of the hand that fingers you, and rolls your nipple in his spit-covered fingers.

The crescendo of pleasure in your body is barely containable; your moan is throaty as you buck onto his hand, and Loki rewards you with another pleasurable squeeze. So hot. Your body is consumed by the wildfire of pleasure, chasing the white hot flame of release.

“Loki—” you can’t help it, you tilt your head and give him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, “—Loki, fuck, I’m gonna cum like this—”

“Then cum, sweet.” Loki’s fingers pump you deeper, curling inside you. His breath is so warm, so hot against your neck. “Cum for me.”

And you do. Shockingly fast, and strong, your body spasming so much that Loki has to hold you close. You watch, dissociated from yourself, as your body jolts with the aftershocks of pleasure. Like the image that’s in front of you isn’t actually _you_ —spent and panting and wanton, pussy dark red and fluttering and proud.

Loki kisses you as you ride out your high, just barely moving his fingers inside you. It’s never been like this. Multiple orgasms are achievable, but with Loki… oh, mercy. How is he able to keep you in such a constant state of arousal, hungry even when you should be sated?

And then… then you register it. You don’t, not at first, too blissfully unaware of whatever else is happening outside your mouth slotting against his, his lips suctioning around the tip of your tongue—but when it happens, you freeze. You can’t believe—is it happening, you really ask yourself, as Loki shifts behind you and positions the head of his cock at your sopping entrance.

Fuck, his precum mingles with your cum, and it’s the fucking _hottest_ thing you’ve ever felt, your body buzzing in preparation for what you’ve been daydreaming about for the longest time.

Your eyes are hyperfocused on the shadow of where your sexes meet, mouth hanging open as you watch in rapture the way he disappears into your folds.

It’s only when he bottoms out, does the way he stretches and fills you so perfectly actually register in your mind and body.

Fucking full is what you are.

Loki’s face is buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavy as his cock fucking _twitches_ inside you. You stay that way, both of you still as a statue, until Loki commands in a hungry whisper, “Ride me.”

And you do, all the while watching your body and the way it molds against his. His cock disappearing inside you, your walls fitting and dragging against the contour and ridges of every part of him. It’s fucking hypnotizing. Up. His cock glistens with your mingled juices. Down. Your pussy swallows him inch by inch. Up. You clench as you rise, particularly unforgiving when you’re around just his cockhead. Down. You add a little swivel to your hips as Loki bottoms out.

He growls a curse underneath his breath.

 _I want to make you cum._ You gyrate more forcefully now, movements losing whatever elegance they held before. _I want you to cum inside me._

“Keep thinking that, and I just might,” Loki groans, fingers rubbing tight, short circles your clit.

“Then do it,” you whisper, clenching as you caress the side of his face. Loki lets out a guttural noise, and then he does something you don’t expect—he shoves you.

Not off of him. Thank fuck he doesn’t. But he forces you forward, firm and dominant, and you fall on your chest with a soft oomph.

“On your hands and knees, pet.” Loki's ceased all movements inside you, save for the brush of his fingers at your hips. But for some reason, you’re sure you can cum like this. Simply wrapped around him, snug and warm, tightening your muscles as the way to release.

As if he’s read your thoughts, Loki pulls out of you and then buries himself to the hilt. You cry out, Loki’s pace now a battering, brutally _delicious_ fucking from behind.

You could stay like this. Face down on your bed that smells like sex, mouth hanging open, being fucked so good you’re fucking drooling. You close your eyes, focused on the sensation of his cock gliding, massaging, pounding into your walls at a speed you can only describe as ungodly.

Your hair is yanked up, not too hard to be considered anything more than pleasurable pain.

“Look at yourself,” Loki spits out, a restrained grunt following after. Your eyes flutter open, and you’re thoroughly turned on by the sight that greets you. Loki’s beautiful face contorted in a sex-crazed snarl, hips slamming into yours. Your ass jiggles with every thrust, and your breasts sway back and forth while you’re barely propped up on your elbows. Your mouth still hangs open, as if awaiting Loki’s next load. Shit. You want that. His cum down your throat.

Loki gives another tug at your hair. “Look at you, my little cock slut. All your dirty desires, all your fantasies and _sex_ —brought to the surface. Here, with me.” Loki groans again, speeding up his thrusts. _Slap. Slap. Slap._ “Do you like how I fuck you? Hmm? Answer me.”

Loki spanks you. A short, pleasurable sting that pushes you closer to release. Your eyebrows crease together—fuck, you won’t last long, not with the way his hand rubs soothing circles over where he slaps you. “Yes,” is your breathy answer.

Another slap. Another caress. “Louder, pet. Do you _like_ —” he rolls his hips deeper into you, his cock riding _just right_ along your G-spot, _shit,_ “—how I _fuck_ you?”

 _Fuuuuuck._ The pleasure builds, and builds, and you buck against him as you moan another yes.

“Then cum,” he orders. _Slapslapslapslap_ —Loki grunts, plowing into you at a such a precise speed, you can barely keep up. “Cum now, for me. _Only_ for me.”

With a wail of his name and your head falling forward against the mattress, you cum, whole body convulsing as you pant loudly through an open mouth. So good. You clench around him as you come down from your high, and his cock sliding in and out of you in a deliciously lazy rhythm sends you into the precipice of release once more.

“Loki—” you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, but you grind against his hardening length, “—I’m gonna cum again.”

“Wait for me.” He grunts, his chest falling on your back as his hands find and knead your breasts. “I’m close.”

Somehow. Something in those two words—or maybe in the way that he says it—makes you pause in your movements. He doesn’t stop, not in the slightest, chasing his own release while you stave off yours. But… there’s _something_ that strikes a chord in you. One that unravels a thread of thoughts and emotions wound tight, tucked away in some deep corner of your mind in favor of enjoyable, no-strings-attached sex.

But you want strings.

You want him to be more than just a sex machine. More than just a dream. Someone who actually fucking _exists_ and hopefully, has a heart that loves as well as he fucks. But the reality is—this isn’t. This isn’t _your_ reality, just some dream-sexcapade for a week.

You’re not gonna cry. Fuck it, you’re _not_ going to. You’re going to enjoy every bit of tonight, damn it, have as many orgasms as you can, and you’re going to feel nothing but lust and pleasure and wake up with the glow of sex.

Loki slaps your ass again, jolting you back to his steady fucking behind you. Your hands gripping sheets, knuckles white, you say in a surprisingly steady voice, “Fuck me harder.”

His breathing hitches, and he spreads your legs further apart, bending you so it’s just your ass in the air meeting him thrust for thrust.

And fuck, does he _thrust._

He’s muttering, quiet affirmations, dirty nothings, hands traveling up and down your spine—and when you clench, the first ropes of his seed sear a blaze of fire within your walls, making it easy for you to follow in release.

Before he can pull out completely, though, you summon your strength, and push Loki on his back while you swivel on his cock—earning another groan from his end—plant your hands on his chest, and look at him.

Memorizing.

Burning it into memory.

You bend forward to kiss him, hips circling over his still-hard cock.

One more night.

Just tonight.

Tonight, you’ll have the sweetest fucking dream you’ve ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3  
> Connect with me on tumblr! www.bellesque.tumblr.com


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The epilogue. Kept it short and sweet this time.  
> Just trust me and read to the end, okay? All smut all love all happy endings :)

**THIS ISN’T HOW** a Thursday afternoon should go. Your ass bent over your desk, papers strewn over the floor, a tie in your mouth, and a cock ramming into you from behind.

Anyone could walk in, at any given moment. Salome. Jacob. Your boss. Anyone who wouldn’t have half a mind to knock first, because how would they know you’re being fucked in the middle of your office?

Your toes lift off the floor, thighs digging into the edge of your table. Weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been in this position. Wouldn’t have ever dreamed of it.

Loki didn’t come back after that night.

No dreams of him, about him—nothing. And maybe it bothered you for a while, just a bit. It had become such an easy routine to fall into, something constant and good and self-indulgent, something that you looked forward to after repetitive days of typing, staring at a screen, your back aching and shoulders tense. A welcome reprieve.

And just as quickly as the dreams came, they left. Just like that.

You knew you shouldn’t grieve over dreams. How many times have you had ones so real that when you woke up, your mind almost convinced yourself that it _was?_ You’d spent entire days feeling sorry, guilty, sad over things that just didn’t exist in the first place. Over things that your mind created and convinced you were reality.

But Loki… Loki was a gray area. It would have been so easy, _much_ easier if you could simply brush him off as that. But he gave you evidence. Things that were there when you woke up even after he was gone. The flower he gave you was still alive and well, and you may or may not have even lifted the glass lid to smell whatever scent it had to give you some good orgasms.

But Loki. Cliché though the saying goes, you haven’t been the same since.

You were still you. But your relationship with sex had changed so drastically in such a short span of time.

A fucking week, he once said.

And so you took a chance on Jacob. You’re reasonable enough, and once you made sure Loki didn’t come back and feature in your dreams, you decided it was time you stopped living in your head. It was foolish to turn Jacob down over a literal dream man, after all. And he was nice, and sweet, and thoughtful. He could tell you didn’t want to go any further than second base, a fact he respected. He didn’t push for explanation or loopholes. And besides. You weren’t exclusive.

There were other dates, sure, but they rarely ended in anything more than a makeout session and some heavy petting and groping. Which was… fine, probably. You were rusty, but you were playing the field. It felt good to be back.

And sooner than later, the flirting, maintaining sexual tension came easier.

_Especially_ with one of your clients, Mr. Williamson.

He was a brooding, silent man. Five o’clock shadow, practical glasses, and a kind of sexy professor look to him. Well-dressed with his bookish sweaters and occasional polo shirts.

You wouldn’t have guessed he wrote erotica in his spare time.

And there was this… weird sort of chemistry between you. Not like the chemistry you and Loki had—that was the stuff of legends, of the highest fantasies for you—but an undeniable undercurrent of attraction interlaced itself in your conversations.

He’d ask about his book. You’d tell him there were no updates.

It became like clockwork. A cycle of work-related conversations, followed by you pondering over his personality, his thoughts, just… him.

And he always gave you these eyes. Like he was undressing you, right in your office, as he’d ask, “So. Any updates?”

It wasn’t even inherently sexy. Mr. Williamson just was. And if he wrote as well as he gave you bedroom eyes, even you had to wonder why the company didn’t pick up his manuscript.

And usually you’d tell him you’d try to talk to the company. See what you can do. Empty promises for a persistent client you knew wouldn’t really get anywhere.

But today?

Today, he’d asked, “Is there anything I can do to… speed up the process? Persuade you?”

And maybe you were finally ready to get some dick that wasn’t an incubus.

Which brings you back to here, now, your ass bent over your desk, papers strewn over the floor, a tie in your mouth, and a cock ramming into you from behind.

Your jaw clamps down on his tie when the head of his cock brushes your G-spot just right, your whimper coming out just barely muffled. _Yes. This feels good. Familiar._

“Shh,” Mr. Williamson caresses your ass cheek, “can’t have any unwanted visitors. They’ll spoil the fun.”

Abruptly he lifts and spins you, your ass coming into contact with the cold surface of your desk. He pries the gag out of your mouth and kisses you ferociously, feverish and desperate, and you heat up with similar fervor.

“You don’t know”—he sucks at your neck, tongue darting out against every inch of skin he can taste—“how long I’ve waited, _wanted,_ to do this.”

He spreads your knees wider, pressing his bulge against your sensitive center. You moan at the contact, back arching, and he cups a hand over your mouth as he guides himself back into you.

“Shh, shh.” He smiles against your cheek, teeth baring as he’s encased once more in your warmth. “Got to keep _quiet._ ”

You nod as he rolls his hips into you, eyebrows creasing at the sheer hotness of it all. You feel like slick, and jelly, and some strange sense of power, defiling your office like this.

“Is—” you pant, fingers nesting at the base of his neck, “—is your— _fuck, there **—**_ book a-anything like this?”

“Hmm.” He hooks a hand under the bend of your knee, lifting and spreading it in such a way that _fuck,_ every time he hits that _spot_ it’s blinding pleasure that makes your pussy flood like a dam that’s been broken.

“Am I fucking the wrong office girl?”

“No!” You press closer to him, the objects on your desk now inching closer to the edge. “Fuck, no, don’t stop.”

He chuckles, grinding into you. “As you say.”

He slips a hand around your bare breast, palming the soft flesh while the other begins its toying with your clit. You clench, convulsing tightly around him—there’s a flash of green in his eyes, and he rubs you harder, grunting softly into your ear.

Your orgasm crescendos, your mind a mantra of _don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop_ , your eyes shut tight as the familiar warmth spreads across your lower half—

There’s a knock at the door.

“I have some coffee and biscuits for you and Mr. Williamson.”

The timing could not be any worse. You try to get off him, but Mr. Williamson keeps you tightly in his arms. He shakes his head mutely, maintaining a steady rhythm of shallow, soundless thrusts, and captures your lips in a searing hot kiss.

“Hello?” Another knock.

You pull away. “We have to answer.”

His head dips down to your breasts, tongue licking and sucking at your peaked nipples. You arch into him.

And then he slips his cock out of you, and he kisses lower—and _lower—_

His masterful tongue closes around your clit the same time another insistent knock comes at the door, masking your whimper pretty well.

Just act like no one’s in the office. It seems like the best course of action. Just allow Mr. Williamson to give you head, licking your pussy like it’s the fountain of life—

He quietly moans into your cavern and you cum, mouth hanging open in silent euphoria.

He comes up again, slipping his cock into you, and fucking slams into you at a breakneck speed. You’re still sensitive from your last climax, so you bury your face in his shoulder while he chases his release.

“I don’t think anyone’s inside.” Distantly you can hear a discussion outside, but your mind is too fogged by sinful sex that you don’t quite care about anything else but the need to have a second orgasm.

“There’s no need for biscuits, we’re just about wrapping up in here,” Mr. Williamson calls in a rather impressively steady British accent.

You didn’t know he could pretend to do that.

And then he lifts you off the desk, bouncing you on his cock while he holds you up with his own strength, your face contorted in bliss as he stills, spilling his seed into the condom while you cum shortly after.

You’re dizzy. Delirious. Probably with a bad case of sex hair. You think the emotion you should feel is shame, what with the smell of sex in the air and the actual act of desecrating your office… but with the sexy half-smile and smoldering look his green eyes give you, you simply feel sexy.

You don’t realize it. Not at first. Maybe it’s because your mind is still clouded by the mindblowing, titillating act that you don’t notice he’s putting on a black suit instead of his usual polo shirt and sweater. Or that when he runs a hand through his hair, it’s black and not the chocolate brown you’re used to.

Hell, you don’t even remind yourself that Mr. Williamson has—well, is supposed to—have gray eyes.

It’s only when you’re sitting back at your desk, trying to act as normal as you can before he walks out your office door; when he leans forward, tucks a finger under your chin and whispers, “Delightful as ever, sweet,” with that ever so familiar green glint in his eyes.

Realization dawns on you when he pauses at the doorframe. He gives you a sly wink, the entire picture before you looking just as you remember. Clear as day. In perfect detail.

Well. Some dreams do come true.

And you’re one of the lucky ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I can't believe we're here, finally at the end. Thank you to everyone who's followed along this short and smutty journey and for giving me and this story a chance. I love you!  
> Comments and kudos will always be cherished <3  
> Connect with me on tumblr: www.bellesque.tumblr.com


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